


Some Cupid Kills With Arrows

by donteattheappleshook



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 48,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26366194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donteattheappleshook/pseuds/donteattheappleshook
Summary: Emma and Killian hate each other. They have since the night they met. Or at least since the morning after. So Emma is dreading having to deal with them being Maid of Honour and Best Man at her brother's wedding. But, as their friends grow more and more annoyed at their constant bickering and a masquerade Stag and Doe turns everything on it's head, the entire bridal party come to a startling realisation: Emma and Killian might just be perfect for each other. With a little scheming and some well-timed chaos, maybe they can stop yelling at each other long enough to realise it too.A Captain Swan AU loosely based on Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 58
Kudos: 143
Collections: Captain Swan Movie Marathon





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> An enormous, huge, giant thank you to ultraluckycatnd for her fantastic beta work and for helping me with this fic right up to the last second despite all my procrastinating. You are lovely and the best <3

_Her head. Oh, god, her head. Why did her head hurt so much?_ Emma groaned, a pathetic whimper coming out as she tried to roll over on the couch. Her stomach gave an uneasy roll of its own at the movement, protesting against the liquor that was still swirling around inside. 

Right. Liquor. Drinking. Drinking last night. Drinking with David. David. She was going to have to kill David. David, who insisted she show up early to this weekend extravaganza disguised as a wedding. The one who claimed that since he’d lost his best man when Mary Margaret stole his little sister to be her maid of honour that he was entitled to a brother-sister pre-bachelor party. _It’s only fair,_ he’d insisted, flashing her those big puppy dog eyes and Emma had caved. She always caved when it came to her brother - or his fiance for that matter. She was weak when it came to those two. And now she had to murder one of them. Murder her only brother two days before his wedding for forcing what must have been an entire bottle of expensive scotch down her throat while they played poker and smoked cigars (and later sang along to the entire Mama Mia soundtrack - not that she’d ever admit that). Pity. She really liked David. 

“Emma, Emma, bo-bemma, Banana-fana fo-femma, Fee-fi-mo-memma. Emma!” The loud singing announced her brother practically bouncing into the room and throwing himself on the couch near her feet. Emma groaned again and threw a pillow over her ears to try and block out the off-key hollering from the asshole next to her. She was liking him less and less with every passing second.

David laughed and ripped the pillow out of her grasp. “Rise and shine sister-mine!” he chanted. She was actually going to murder him. She reached out, a pathetic attempt to strike him but her hand just fell limply at her side. 

“They will never find your body,” she told him. He laughed again and Emma cursed David and his super liver. She’d been his sister since she was ten; since Ruth found her on the street, burning a book of fairy tales to keep warm, and had taken her home for the night. That night had turned into forever and now, after eighteen years of living with the man, she’d never once seen him suffer a hangover. 

“How are you so chipper?” she asked. Her voice sounded like she’d gargled sandpaper. David smiled, hauling her up by the shoulders until she was sitting like an almost-human. 

He threw his arms out. “It’s a beautiful day?” he offered. “I’m one morning closer to marrying the woman of my dreams? Everyone who I love and who loves me is on their way to celebrate the happiest moment of my life?” Emma frowned at him. How dare he be so happy so early. David laughed at her misery again but patted her shoulder sympathetically before rising up and walking across the hall to the kitchen. Then, as if out of nowhere, a giant cup of coffee, a bottle of water, and two extra-strength Tylenol capsules appeared on the table in front of her. She wondered if she’d fallen asleep for a minute there.

Emma reached for the coffee like it was a lifeline - which it really was if she was being honest. She drank deeply and felt the effects almost immediately. She downed the pills and water next. She couldn’t quite manage a smile since this was still technically his fault, but she offered David a thankful look for taking care of her. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t have to murder him. Just some light maiming. 

“You might want to jump in the shower,” he told her as she shuffled into the kitchen, he himself already looking and smelling fresh as a daisy. “You look a little rough,” he said with a grimace. Emma scowled at him and threw a nearby banana at his head which he easily dodged. She caught a glimpse of her reflection though, in the metallic gleam of the toaster and, well, he wasn’t wrong. “Just thought you’d want to freshen up and wake up before everyone gets here,” he suggested.

That’s right. It was Thursday. Everyone was arriving today. Oh, God. Emma had not played this right. Getting hammered on the night before the festivities even began. Today everyone would be arriving and settling into their respective rooms in the estate (read: mansion) owned by Mary Margaret’s parents - seriously the place was enormous. Mary Margaret had told her once how many bedrooms it had but the number had been so ridiculous and so superfluous that Emma had struck it from her memory. Nobody with an only child needed a house with rooms in the double digits. And this wasn’t even their home. No, they considered this place their ‘summer cottage’ where they would entertain friends on the private lake. It was convenient for a wedding though, she had to say. The whole bridal party was staying there for the entire weekend. 

Tonight was the Stag and Doe. Leave it to David and Mary Margaret to find a way to avoid having to be apart even for their bachelor and bachelorette parties. It wasn’t like they’d ever been apart since they were fourteen years old - why start now? It was themed. Of course it was themed. Mary Margaret loved themes and David loved Mary Margaret so he let her have whatever damn theme she wanted, and since her parents had put their foot down against their daughter getting married on Halloween, they were having a _costume_ stag and doe . She groaned. There were _so many_ people coming. She knew. She’d had to organize it. 

Tomorrow was the spa day for Mary Margaret and her bridesmaids and she assumed the boys would be treating David to some sort of manly pre-wedding tradition. All the out of town family would be arriving for the rehearsal dinner on Saturday. And then finally, the wedding was on Sunday. This weekend was a marathon, she mused, not a sprint.

Dozens of decorators, caterers, florists, and lots of other jobs Emma had never heard of were already running around the grounds - yes, the place had _grounds_ \- setting things up for what would certainly be the most lavish and extravagant (knowing Mary Margaret’s parents) yet classy and intimate (knowing Mary Margaret) wedding the world had ever seen. And all of them were under the direct orders of Regina Mills, David and Mary Margaret’s wedding planner and probably the most terrifying woman Emma had ever met.

Emma needed to boot and rally. She was the maid of honour and the groom’s sister. This weekend was not about her. Her job was to make sure everything ran smoothly. That the two most important people in her life had the most amazing few days of their lives and nothing and no-one was going to stand in her way. 

_Except maybe her speech,_ Emma thought as she turned on the shower and stepped under it. The hot water felt good and helped wake her up a little. The speech. The speech that she’d had nearly a year to write and still only had a blank page to show for it. How was she supposed to write a speech about love when she didn’t believe in it herself? 

Well, that wasn’t completely true. She believed that some love was possible. But only for certain people. People like David and Mary Margaret who had found ‘The One’ when they were in the eighth grade and had never looked back. But they were the exception, not the rule. 

Love had only ever left Emma hurt and alone. Love had only ever left her behind. First her birth parents who abandoned her on the side of the road as an infant. Then the string of foster parents that had cast her aside when they decided she wasn’t what they wanted. Then Ruth who had died far too young and left her and David behind. Then Neal, her high school boyfriend who had been her first everything before he disappeared to another city without so much as a ‘see ya’ text. And now David and Mary Margaret were getting married and starting a family of their own - one she wouldn’t be as much of a part of, no matter how much her brother insisted things wouldn’t change. 

No, love wasn’t in the cards for Emma. She told people she didn’t have time for it but really she just didn’t have the heart for it. A heart could only take so many blows before it learned to rebuild itself out of something stronger. The taunting lilt of ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride’ flitted through her head and she shook it away. She was fine like this. She was happy. She had a job she loved, a nice apartment, and good friends. She didn’t need love.

As she finished drying her hair and putting on enough makeup so that she didn’t look like an extra from The Walking Dead, Emma heard the commotion of people arriving. She could pick out Mary Margaret, Belle, Elsa and Ruby’s voices easily and she rushed out to greet her friends. They squealed when they saw her and her head only protested a little as they wrapped her up in a tangle of limbs that passed for a group hug. 

Mary Margaret gave her a sympathetic look. “How was the pre-bachelor party?” she asked and Emma only grunted in response. 

“You guys got here okay?” David asked, squeezing in to grab his bride-to-be and give her a kiss that would make you think she’d been away for months and not for a night. 

“Save it for the honeymoon would you?” Ruby said in mock disgust and David looked at her with a wolfish smile. 

“Don’t be jealous, Ruby! I’ve got one for you too!” David rushed to grab a protesting Ruby and planted a big, sloppy kiss on her cheek. 

Emma smiled as she watched her friends laugh and joke and tease each other. She loved having them all here together. Soon the boys would get here too and for one, perfect weekend everything would be just the way it should be. All her friends in one place, celebrating together for the first time since her college graduation. 

Well, almost perfect. All of them being here also meant _he_ would be here. He and his snark and his ego and his womanizing ways. She supposed it was a small price to pay for the reunion. And she couldn’t deny that she really enjoyed the look on his face when she put him in his place. 

“Oh! It’s Killian,” David said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check a message. _Speak of the devil_ , she thought. “He says they should be here in five,” David informed them, tucking his phone away. 

“Great,” Emma said sarcastically and David shot her a begrudging look. She saw Ruby and Belle roll their eyes as Elsa and Mary Margaret started putting things away. 

“Be nice,” David warned her. 

“I’m always nice!” she insisted, offended. “ _He’s_ the one who can’t seem to manage to be a decent human being for more than five minutes.”

“Come on, Emma,” Mary Margaret insisted from the kitchen. “You’re just as guilty. I don’t know why you egg him on.” She shook her head and Emma balked. 

“I do not! I just think that the man needs reminding every now and then that he’s not God’s gift to women.” It was David who rolled his eyes this time. “Seriously, David, how you can stand to have _him_ be your best man -” she started.

“Nope,” he cut her off. “You don’t get to complain about that. You chose Mary Margaret over me when we both asked you, so I had to find someone else. Besides, Killian is my best friend.” She balked. David rolled his eyes. “My best _male_ friend,” he corrected. “So, again, _be nice_.” He gave her a stern look. 

“But he’s just so… so…”

“So what?” Ruby asked, looking like she was really enjoying this.

Elsa shot her a look. “Don’t encourage her, Ruby.”

Ruby grinned. “Oh come on, it’s fun! It’s like a free show watching those two go at each other.” 

“We do not go at each other!” Emma insisted again. “I just find it hard to say nothing like all of you do when he goes around acting so… cocky.”

“Cocky?” Ruby prodded and Belle elbowed her.

“You know what I mean. Every time he comes here, it’s all, _oh, I’ve done this_ and _don’t worry, I know how to do that_ ... _Look at me, I’m so handsome_ and -”

“Handsome?” Mary Margaret interjected with a raised eyebrow.

“Shut it!” she cast her friend a warning glare. “I mean he thinks he’s the hottest thing since the Hemsworths. And it doesn’t help that he always drags along some bimbo whose sole purpose in life seems to be to fluff his ego and his…” she made a vague hand gesture, “you know.” 

“Woah, Emma, tell us how you really feel, why don’t you?” Ruby laughed. 

“He’s really not actually -” David started but she cut him off.

“Look, it’s nothing against the women okay - I’m sure on some level they’re really nice or whatever, or have some great heart or talent, but _honestly,_ any woman who is willing to be Killian Jones’ date must have the IQ and backbone of a slug.”

“He’s not bringing a date,” David told her before she could go on. 

Emma reeled back from the news. Killian Jones without a date? Impossible. The man couldn’t stand to be caught dead without something shiny on his arm.

“What? Has he finally slept with every woman in America and abroad?”

David rolled his eyes. “He’s bringing his brother. Something about him being on shore leave and wanting to spend time with him.” 

“Oh my God,” Emma groaned, putting her head in her hands. 

“See?” Belle piped in softly, misunderstanding her distress. “I’ve always said you judged him too quickly-”

“ _There’s two of them_!?” she demanded, hoping someone would tell her it was a joke. There was a collective groan and a small laugh from her friends. “Is one Jones in this world not enough?” she asked the room.

Before anyone had a chance to answer, a smooth, accented voice called from down the hall. “Hello? Is someone getting married here?”

“Robin!” Mary Margaret cheered, perking right up as though there was anywhere left for her to perk. “We’re in the kitchen!” she called.

“How the bloody hell do we find the kitchen?” came another accented voice, this one rougher around the edges. “This place is a maze.” _Will_! Emma rushed out with Mary Margaret to help their friends navigate the enormous house.

They found them looking confused in the front hall and Emma practically threw herself in Will’s arms as Mary Margaret greeted her guests. 

Will had been in the same foster home as her when they were little. He was only a few years older, but he’d made a point to look out for her when most of the older kids had been inclined to pick on the smaller ones. She’d run away when he’d been transferred to another home for fighting and, after Ruth adopted her, she thought she’d never see him again. But with some help she’d managed to track him down in high school and was happy to find out he’d been placed with a distant relative the state had managed to locate in the area - a second cousin, Robin. 

Robin was in college and on his own at the time, but took Will under his wing and had brought him up more like a little brother than a son. When David, Mary Margaret, and Emma had all ended up at the same college as Will and Robin, the friendship had been inevitable. Will introduced them to Ruby, and Mary Margaret became quick friends with Belle and Elsa when they all joined and felt like the odd ones out in the same sorority. However, Will had also unfortunately introduced them all to his classmate and drinking buddy, Killian Jones - something Emma would never forgive him for. 

“Hey! You’re going to ruin my shirt!” he told her, pretending he wasn’t hugging her back.

“Your shirt’s already wrinkled,” she told him.

“It’s disheveled,” he corrected her. “There’s a difference.” 

“Come now, Swan, I know it can be difficult to find men at your age, but there’s no need to throw yourself at poor Will like that.” 

And there it was. Ninety seconds. He’d lasted a whole ninety seconds before saying something rude and asshole-ish and just… ugh. She hated him. 

She opened her mouth to retort but Robin beat her to it. He turned on Killian, finger extended in warning. “You! No. None of that. We talked about this.”

Killian snapped his mouth shut and held his hands up in innocence but she could see him biting back a smile. Ugh, he even looked smug when he was being chastised. She looked him over, arming herself for the battle that was soon to come, scanning for anything she could throw back in his face when she needed it, something to bring him back down to size. 

He _was_ handsome - she had to give him that. He was probably one of the best looking men she’d ever met and she remembered thinking so the first time they were introduced. But when he opened his mouth... god. The sheer level of douche that was contained in one man. It made her shudder at the thought and angry at her past self for judging a book by its cover. Why her friends put up with him, she’d never understand. 

The others had joined them in the hall by now and pleasantries were being exchanged. But as she hugged Robin, and Killian exchanged how-have-you-beens with David and Belle, she could feel his eyes on her. That was another thing that drove her crazy about him. He always seemed to be paying too much attention to her - probably sizing her up the way she did him. 

But sometimes… sometimes she’d caught him watching her with an expression that wasn’t mirthful or arrogant - a small smile curling the corner of his mouth as if against his will, his brow softened from it’s usual expressiveness. It made her unsteady, made her feel unbalanced because she didn’t know what to make of it. What to make of the fact that she kind of liked it. That scared the shit out of her. 

“Allow me to introduce my brother,” Killian was suddenly saying and she realised she may have been the one staring this time. “Everyone, this is Liam. Liam this is… everyone,” he smiled. Emma raised her brow at them both. Another Jones. This could not end well. “It’s Liam’s first time in the States,” he informed them as Liam shook hands with everyone.

“Well,” Liam interjected, “first time off a ship anyway.” 

“Welcome,” David said, patting him on the shoulder. 

“We’re so happy to have you here,” Mary Margaret cheered, hugging him. 

“Nice to meet you,” Elsa smiled, offering her hand. Liam looked from Mary Margaret to her and for a second his eyes went a little wide - Elsa could have that effect - before he took her hand and held it a fraction too long. Elsa’s smile shifted as she looked at him and Liam finally released her hand. 

“Thank you,” Liam smiled, looking down at the floor and rubbing the back of his neck. “I do hope I’m not intruding,” he offered. “Only it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to see my brother and…” _Holy shit. Was he blushing?_ Emma thought. How the hell was this guy related to Killian?

“Of course you’re not,” she found herself saying before she could stop herself. He must be adopted. That was the only explanation. “This family has always had a soft spot for picking up strays along the way,” she insisted. “Emma,” she told him her name.

“Ah, Emma,” he said, casting a look at Killian. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Emma cast her own look at the other brother, skeptical of what he could have possibly said about her. He maintained his look of innocence. Liam smiled and took her hand, shaking it. “A pleasure,” he said and she smiled back almost instinctively. Maybe her judgement had been off when she’d first met Killian but she liked to think she was a pretty good judge of character. And Liam, well Liam had an air about him. It was the opposite of Killian’s. Where Killian exuded cockiness and pretense, Liam was modest and sincere. _Well what do you know,_ she thought, _there is a Jones out there I could like._

Quickly, once all the greetings had been taken care of, Emma informed everyone of the schedule for the weekend. “What will the guys be doing tomorrow?” she asked, looking pointedly at the best man.

“We’re going camping,” Killian informed her. It almost pissed her off how perfect a choice that was. David _loved_ camping. “Lots of good old fashioned male bonding,” Killian joked. “I’ve packed enough cigars and whiskey to take down a horse. Let’s see if we can get Dave hungover for the first time in his life shall we?” Emma braced himself for whatever he was going to say next. “Besides, it will give us a chance to give him some tips for the wedding night.” He winked at the groom.

“Well, that’s our cue, I think,” David said, rolling his eyes at his friend. “Let’s go find everyone a room and have a drink and maybe some pizza before people get here.” 

As the gang headed into the kitchen, Killian went about hanging up his jacket and setting his keys down before picking up his bag, calling after them. “Don’t worry Dave! I can tell you what to do so you don’t bleed your first time!” Emma lingered behind. She couldn’t help herself. 

“You know you talk a lot for a guy nobody listens to.” 

And there it was, that cocky, amused smile he seemed to save only for her. Emma ignored the little flip her stomach did - convincing herself that it was just leftover hangover symptoms. 

“ _Swan_ ,” he said almost affectionately, but there was a mocking there too. “We didn’t have a chance to say hello! You look…” He paused, taking in what she was sure were dark circles and pale skin. “Alive... mostly. How absolutely wonderful for someone, I’m sure.” 

She didn’t even let it phase her. If he was already relying on physical insults she’d already won. “I noticed you didn’t bring a date.” He eyed her skeptically. “Did you forget to pay your tab at Escorts ‘R Us this month?”

He smiled. “I don’t see _your_ date, Swan. Or is he already making a hasty escape out the bathroom window? Don’t take it too hard. Not everyone can have as many suitors as some.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Ha,” she snorted. “Yeah I know all about your many suitors. Tell me something,” she started, inching closer and speaking low like it was a secret. He leaned in almost like a reflex. “Does your right hand know that you sometimes cheat on it with your left?”

He laughed outright at that. “Ah, love, it might shock you to discover that some of us are capable of finding willing partners for the world’s oldest dance. But I can understand how some might be led to believe one’s hand is one’s only option.”

She tilted her head. “Yeah, I’m gonna bet that partners like you are part of the reason so many _dancers_ prefer their own hand. Might have something to do with why you only ever have a date for one night...” 

It was his turn to inch forward. He stepped closer until there was barely any breathing room between them but Emma held her ground, tilting her chin up at him and meeting his gaze. “Oh, believe me. My prowess leaves nothing to be desired,” he promised. His voice had dropped, sounding gravelly and making his accent more pronounced. Emma steeled herself, ignoring the way the heat of him and the smell of his cologne warmed her skin. He always smelled so damn good, like leather and the sea. It was destabilizing and she nearly stumbled on her next words. 

“And yet, you brought your brother as your date. Something tells me he doesn't put out.” He smiled at her and it was that smile she’d seen before - the unsettling one. The one that messed with this thing they had going - this mutual distaste. She needed to wipe it off his face. “Maybe I should find out,” she added with a suggestive brow and watched with pride and a small flicker of disappointment as the smile fell from his face. 

“I’ll not have you defiling my brother, Swan!” He said it in jest, but he didn’t seem quite committed to his mock offence. She worried she may have pushed too far.

“Emma! Killian! Let’s go!” Belle shouted from the kitchen. “We’re ordering pizza and Ruby is getting hangry. Killian I swear she’ll put mushrooms on yours if you don’t come tell us what you want!”

They broke apart and it was only a second before Killian’s regular cock-sure bravado was back in place. 

“Shall we?” he asked, indicating that she should lead the way down the hall. 

_Only four days._ She told herself. _She could handle four days._

-/-

“So tell me, Mary Margaret,” Killian asked later as they were all eating their pizza. Emma had nearly let slide his ‘ _really Swan, anchovies?’_ comment, but then suggested he try the one with garlic since it was unlikely he would find anyone desperate enough to kiss him tonight. He refused, insisting that experience had taught him to be optimistic. She’d muttered something about women with no standards before Robin had told them to knock it off and eat their bloody pizza. “What exactly does this party tonight entail? All Belle said was that I had to dress up? It’s lucky I still had my Halloween costume from last year.”

“You mean your halloween costume from _every year_ ,” Emma snarked. Killian smirked.

“Why mess with perfection?” he asked. “Besides, Captain Hook is always a killer with the ladies.” 

“No!” Mary Margaret covered her ears. “We’re not supposed to know what you’re dressing up as!” 

“Way to ruin the surprise,” Emma said harshly and regretted it when she saw genuine surprise and regret cross his face. She ignored it, turning to the groomsmen who weren’t aware of the plans for the night. “We’re having a masquerade ball. Belle and Elsa spent weeks making everyone gorgeous masks to choose from and wear with their costumes. Nobody can know who anyone is, though. We’re doing this the right way. Nobody reveals their identities until midnight. That’s how long Mary Margaret and David have to find each other once we separate them at the beginning of the party.” 

“I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me that these two haven’t told each other _exactly_ what they’re dressing up as? I don’t buy it,” Robin shook his head.

“We took care of that,” Emma laughed. “Well, Belle did. Belle picked out their costumes and has kept them a secret. Thanks again,” she said, turning to the woman in question. 

“My pleasure,” she said. “Actually, Elsa helped a lot. Her taste is impeccable.”

“Well, you couldn't have left Swan to do it. They’d both be wearing jeans and leather jackets.”

Emma shot him a look but Elsa was quicker. “How exactly is that different from your everyday look? Worried she might have picked out the wrong shade of black?” she challenged, eyeing up his black jeans, black boots, and black shirt. His black leather jacket still hung in the closet in the front hall. Liam hid his guffaw behind his hand and Elsa smirked proudly.

“Don’t worry,” Emma jumped in. “Killian doesn’t need a costume. He’s always dressed like a giant tool.” It wasn’t her best insult but hey, they couldn’t all be winners. 

Killian smirked, stepping closer to her, invading her space a little, His voice was low and suggestive. “I’d be happy to show you my giant tool, Swan,” he offered and Emma pulled a face. 

“ _Oh my god, just bone already_ ,” she heard Ruby mutter under her breath. 

“What?” they both snapped but Ruby pretended like she hadn’t heard them. 

Liam laughed again and Elsa turned to him with wide, almost sorrowful eyes. “Oh, Liam,” she said and he turned to her. Emma wasn’t sure if she imagined the slight redness on his cheeks. It was very like his brother’s. “I’m so sorry. Killian didn’t tell us you were coming,” she glared at her friend. “Do you have a costume? I’m sure we could put something together if you -”

“Don’t trouble yourself, love,” he answered. “Killian forgot to mention a costume when he invited me.” He shot his brother a look. “But thankfully, my brother still had his costume from the time he played Westley in that _Princess Bride_ stage play in college.” 

Emma lit up just as Killian grimaced. “I’m sorry, the time he _what_?” she asked, beaming. Oh, this was too good. She definitely needed to hear that story. Liam smirked, looking at his brother’s embarrassment and Emma once again marveled at how much she liked the older Jones brother. 

“Hey! No more costume talk!” Ruby jumped in. “We can’t have David and Mary Margaret knowing who anyone is! It will spoil the game!”

“Sorry,” Liam said, looking a little abashed. “Mum’s the word,” He cast Emma a glance out of the corner of his eye, leaning in to stage-whisper. “He had the ponytail and everything,” he told her conspiratorially. It took everything she had not to burst out laughing, instead settling for tossing a shit-eating grin and a ‘ _just wait_ ” look at Killian. Killian looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

“Liam, you might be becoming one of my favorite people.” 

He grinned. 

“We should start getting ready,” Belle chimed in. “People will be arriving soon.”

“Oh I can’t wait to see the costumes!” Mary Margaret squealed and then turned suddenly. “Emma!” Emma jumped. “Will you let me do your makeup? Please? You never let me and it’s my wedding!” 

Emma sighed, giving in to her friend’s decades-long attempt at dolling her up. The last time she'd caved had been prom night. “Fine.”

“Oh thank you! You’re going to look gorgeous!” Mary Margaret squealed before quickly catching herself. “Not that you don’t always look gorgeous!”

Emma saw Killian open his mouth but didn’t give him the chance. “Can it, Ponytail.” 

He pressed his mouth into a tight line but the corners turned up despite how obviously he was trying to fight it.

“Wait, first let me show you your costume,” Belle said to Mary Margaret. Emma didn’t know which one of them was more excited at the prospect. 

“Okay! Emma, meet me in my room okay?” The bride-to-be waited for Emma to nod in agreement (defeat) before rushing off with Belle, Elsa and Ruby following quickly behind. Emma stood shaking her head as they ran away giggling. David corralled all the boys, rushing them off in the other direction to do… whatever guys did to get ready for a party. She watched them all disappearing down the hall, whooping and cheering. She thought she might have heard Will shout something about David finding his True Love and she shook her head.

“This is why I’m never going to fall in love,” she groaned to nobody in particular, shaking her head. “It makes people act like idiots.” 

“At least we can agree on one thing,” she heard a voice answer. Her eyes snapped up to see Killian, still hovering in the doorway. He smiled slightly at her. “Not in the cards for me either, I think.” There was something vulnerable about the way he said it, like there was some secret that she was missing. Just for a second, she caught herself wondering what it was, feeling a slight tug in her chest at the defeated way he spoke. A connection? She smothered _that_ feeling right away. 

“Lucky for the women of the world,” Emma answered. 

He only gave her another one of those small, half smiles before following the others down the hall. 

“Emma! Get your ass up here!” Ruby shouted from one of the bedrooms. Emma left the kitchen, doing her best to ignore the way getting the last word with Killian hadn’t left her feeling as smug as it usually did.

-/-

“Ah, there’s my best man,” David said as Killian walked into the room. “Leaving me in my hour of need already?”

“Please, I was gone for less than a minute. Couldn’t you guys keep yourselves entertained for that long without me?” he asked mirthfully.

“What were you doing back there?” Will asked, sounding like he knew the answer already. 

“Speaking with the lovely Emma, I’ll wager,” Robin answered with a smirk.

“What else is new?” David asked, rolling his eyes before Killian could defend himself. 

“Why is this your hour of need, exactly?” Killian asked, choosing not to contradict them. He _had,_ in fact, been talking to her, so he didn’t really have a leg to stand on. 

“Because Robin has a better costume than me!” 

It was Killian’s turn to roll his eyes. “His name is _literally_ Robin. Who else could reasonably dress up as Robin Hood?”

“But that’s just it! She’ll never suspect it!” David insisted. The men all paused, exchanging looks. David held up the costume that had been laid out for him on the bed. “Belle dressed me as Prince Charming. I love her to death, but she’s just as much of a romantic as Mary Margaret. It’s too obvious, she’ll find me in a second.” 

“He has a point, you know,” Robin agreed. 

“Hey, Belle put a lot of work into picking your costumes,” Will reminded them. He cleared his throat when Robin shot him a wry look. “And the others. They all put in a lot of work…” 

Killian grinned. “And wouldn’t it just be great to see their reactions when they realise we’ve switched it on them?” Even David smiled, excited at the harmless though somewhat juvenile prank. Will looked nervous though. 

“Listen, I just don’t want to be the reason we ensue Elsa’s wrath,” he defended. Liam glanced at Will, and Killian noticed a slightly downtrodden look on his brother’s face. He frowned.

“It’s my Stag and Doe,” the groom insisted. “I say we do it.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. He slapped a hand on David’s shoulder. “Let’s see if true love really does conquer all, shall we?”

Robin considered this for a moment, arms crossed as he stroked his beard. “All right, but if we do this, we should really commit. Everybody confess what your costume is so we can pick the most un-David-like one.” 

Will still didn’t look convinced. “What’s with him?” David asked. 

Robin smirked. “He’s just worried that Belle will be mad at him. Or is it that you picked your costume with her in mind and don’t want to give it up?” 

“Really, Will? You’re still hung up on her?” David joked. “Why don’t you just tell her already?” Liam perked up then, looking back at Will after having been staring at the floor for a moment. 

“Oh, I was under the impression that Elsa was your girlfriend,” he said casually. Four pairs of suspicious eyes turned to him. “You just seemed so set on not upsetting her is all…” Killian didn’t buy it. 

Will looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “Bloody hell, Elsa? No. She just scares the hell out of me and she should scare you too,” he warned. “That is not a woman you want to cross.”

“Indeed,” Robin agreed, coming up behind his friend and wrapping an arm around him. “Will only has eyes for Belle.” Will elbowed him. “Elsa is, as of present, unattached.” 

“Huh,” was all Liam said, suddenly far too uninterested in the conversation. It took Killian a moment, frowning at his brother, trying to read what he was hiding before it hit him. 

“ _Oh, no,_ ” he groaned and everyone’s eyes snapped up to him. 

“What?” Liam demanded, playing innocent. 

“No, _no.”_

“ _What?”_

“My own brother!” Killian cried. “Abandoned. Betrayed by my own kin!”

Liam rolled his eyes but his tone was way too defensive. “Shut up, Killian.” 

Robin snorted but hid it quickly behind his hand as Killian shot him a death glare. 

“Am I missing something?” David asked, looking between the brothers. 

“What you’re missing, Dave, is that my brother, sworn bachelor, the last of the sworn bachelors, the last of the Jones’ to carry on the good name and reputation of man about town and sea, has fallen in love.” He cast his eyes to Liam again. “Traitor!” 

“Oh, come on, Killian. Stop being dramatic. I’m not in love.” 

“Not yet!” he cried. “But I’ve seen that look before - it’s in the eyes. I’ve seen it in my fallen comrades. First David, then Will. Robin was lost to me before I even met him, married at nineteen like some lovesick fool.”

“Careful now, that’s my wife you’re talking about,” Robin warned. Marian and Roland were joining the group the day of the wedding, thinking that subjecting a six year old to three days of wedding festivities seemed unreasonable.

“And now my own brother! Seduced! Stolen away by the Ice Queen. We stood together! Now I stand alone.”

“That’s a bit much don’t you think?” Graham said. 

“You like Elsa?” David asked Liam and Killian rounded on him. 

“ _That’s_ what you got from what I just said?” 

“I mostly tune you out if I’m honest,” David said casually before focusing on Liam again. “If you like Elsa you have the perfect costume. The Princess Bride is her favorite movie. She and Emma are obsessed with it - it’s a little annoying actually. If you wear that, you’ll definitely get her attention.”

“Oh, well…” was all Liam said, clearly flustered to Killian’s disgust. He did not like how pleased his brother looked at the idea. 

“Killian,” David said then. “Let’s see your costume. Mary Margaret won’t come near me if she thinks I’m you. She’s seen your pirate costume a million times now.” 

“I think the hair might give it away, Dave,” Killian laughed, gesturing to his own dark hair that contrasted so drastically with the groom’s fair head. “Besides,” he smirked. “You don’t have the cleavage for it.” 

David rolled his eyes. “Oh, far be it from me to deny you the opportunity to wear a shirt unbuttoned to your waist.” 

“What exactly is your obsession with this Captain Hook costume, Brother?” Liam piped up. “I’ve never seen it but it would seem it’s rather famous. Why the fixation on Peter Pan?” 

“It’s because he’s the boy who never grew up,” Will offered, receiving a punch in the arm from the person in question. “At least that’s what Ruby dubbed him for all his womanizing.” 

Killian rolled his eyes, familiar with the nickname. He never bothered to mention that he liked the character of Hook, not Pan. Not the devil child but the melancholic man who clung to the last bit of hope left in him. 

“I’m hardly a boy,” Killian glared. “And I don’t womanize. Every woman I take out knows exactly my intentions. I’m not some child playing games.”

“Then you won’t mind giving up your costume,” Robin insisted. 

“I told you it would be too obvious,” he reminded them again.

“So am I understanding correctly?” Will asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re just all throwing the girl’s rules out the window?” Will asked with a bit of annoyance in his tone. If Killian himself weren’t so annoyed at Will’s crush on Belle, he’d have found it funny. 

“Yes,” David said simply. “Liam, you keep yours so that you have an ice breaker with Elsa and Killian, well, I guess you can keep yours for your vanity.” Killian rolled his eyes. “The rest of you,” he demanded. “Let me see what you have.” 

David, Will and Robin spent far too long debating who should wear which of the three costumes, even going so far as to look through the clothes they had brought to see if they could make a new, fourth costume, before finally making a decision nearly an hour later. As they headed to their respective rooms to change, Killian noticed his brother lingering. He sighed again. 

“So, Elsa then?” 

“I mean, she seems nice,” Liam answered but Killian could see him trying to fight the little smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

“Nice? Elsa? I mean sure she can be friendly sometimes, but I’ve always found her to be a bit cold, distant.” 

“Perhaps she just doesn’t like you, brother.” 

“Nonsense,” he smiled. “All women like me.” But then looked at Liam again. “You really like her?” 

“I don’t - she seems interesting. I’d like to get to know her better, yes.” 

“Unbelievable. You’re in the country for ten minutes and you’ve fallen for the first blonde you’ve seen.” He shook his head, utterly, totally disappointed by his brother. 

“I wouldn’t be the first Jones now would I?” Liam muttered under his breath. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.”

“Unbelievable,” Killian sighed.

“You keep saying that,” Liam pointed out.

“Well it is! A few years ago we were all free, unattached. We could head to the bar, meet some nice girls, have some fun. But now, I swear David has to ask _permission_ before he goes out with us. And Will won’t go anywhere unless we agree to invite Belle along so he can stare at her like a git and not say a word. When did all of the bachelors die off? When did all my friends drop off the face of the earth. I’ll tell you when. When they decided to fall in love!” 

“Don’t you think you’re getting a little old for this, Killian?”

“How dare you?” Killian snapped. “I’m thirty-two. I’m hardly at the age of needing to settle down.” 

“Then pray tell what age is appropriate to settle down?”

“I’ll let you know if I ever hit it,” Killian smirked. Liam rolled his eyes. 

“So what, you’re going to keep man whoring around? Don’t you want to be with someone? Have something real? Fall in love?”

“Love is overrated. I plan to die a bachelor.” 

“You mean alone,” Liam corrected him. “I don’t believe you for a second, brother,” he said, but he shook his head in a way that told Killian he didn’t plan on arguing any further. Let Liam disbelieve him. He didn’t need his brother’s approval. He’d tried love once and it had brought him nothing but wasted years and endless torment. 

Killian had learned young that love only ended in pain and heartbreak. He’d seen it with his mother, who’d been unhappy her entire married life only to pass away young and leave behind a father who was so heartbroken of the loss of the woman he mistreated that he abandoned his two sons. 

He’d sworn off love at six years old. He’d only faltered once since, despite his best efforts to resist it. And that time had only served to reinforce his belief that he was right. Love was a waste of time. He didn’t need it. And he didn’t want it. Let the Davids and the Robins and the Wills - _and apparently the Liams_ \- of the world have love. He would stick to one night. One night was clear. One night left no expectations, set no precedent. One night was safe. 

“So then,” Liam started, snapping Killian from his admittedly rather gloomy train of thought. “What about Emma?” he trailed off. 

Killian’s head snapped up as though he’d been struck. “What _about_ Emma?” he asked wearily.

“She seems nice, is all. Funny, smart, rather beautiful too…” 

Killian felt his heart jump into his throat. Emma? Liam and Emma? Was his brother really suggesting that he was interested in Emma romantically? Or even just physically? The idea of his brother and Emma together stirred a feeling inside of him that he didn’t like. The same feeling that had come over him when Emma had taunted him with the idea of her and Liam earlier. What was it - anger? Disgust? _Jealousy_? No. He wasn’t jealous. Emma could sleep with whoever she wanted. So could his brother for that matter. So could he. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“I’ll admit that she’s rather pleasant to look at but believe me, the woman is a harpie. She’s got a wicked tongue on her. She’s cold and defensive and she has walls a mile high.”

“She seemed rather pleasant to me. Witty too.”

“Oh, aye, she’s got wit, that’s for sure.” He caught the corner of his mouth ticking up and forced it down. “She’s quick and rather amusing when she’s not yelling at me.”

“You don’t seem to mind her yelling at you.” 

He laughed. “She’s quick to anger, that’s all,” Killian shrugged, trying to go for blase but knowing he was failing. “Makes her rather fun to argue with. She has a way of seeing people… she’s quite perspective really.” She was. She could and would call him on any and all of his bullshit. He was always surprised to realise how much he enjoyed that. But she had him pegged wrong. Always had. And he couldn’t forgive her that. 

“So you don’t like her then?” Liam continued, frowning. “I suppose I can understand that. I heard you talking in the hall. She does seem like she can be rather…”

“Rather what?” Killian said quickly, shocked by how vehemently his body reacted to the idea of someone speaking poorly of his rival - someone besides him anyway. 

Liam’s eyes went wide and then settled into a knowing expression Killian didn’t like. “Nothing,” he said, but the word held weight. 

“She’s just… she’s had a hard life,” Killian found himself saying. _Shut up, why are you defending her?_ he demanded of himself, but he couldn’t stop the words that came out. “She’s been through a lot - like we have. And she’s done some rather impressive things with her life despite it. She’s a detective you know?”

“Yes, I know. You’ve told me. You’ve told me a lot about her actually…”

“Right,” Killian caught himself. Clearing his throat. He didn’t like what his brother was implying. Killian didn’t want Emma. Of course he didn’t. They fought and they bantered and they teased but that was all their relationship was. It was all it ever had been - well, almost. There was that first night... But regardless, he didn’t want his brother to get tangled up with her either. For his brother’s sake only. Emma pushed everyone away. He wouldn’t want to risk his brother being hurt like... “Well, yes, she _is_ cold and distant and incredibly frustrating and - I don’t know if you want to go there. Not worth the effort I think and -”

“ _Killian.”_

“What?” he snapped.

“I’m not interested in Emma,” he explained carefully and Killian was angry at the relief he felt. “But I think maybe…” Killian steeled his jaw, fists clenching and shoulders straightening as his brother eyed him with… pity? sympathy? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Something in his expression must have warned Liam off. “Nevermind,” he finished. 

Killian let out a heavy breath, thankful that this conversation was over. “Shall we go get ready?” he asked. “I think people will be arriving soon. I’ve seen Mulan’s car pull up. And if she’s here, the party is bound to get underway quickly.”

“Aye,” Liam said, swinging his arm around Killian’s shoulders. “Let’s.” 

-/-

“Emma!” she heard Elsa call for her from the room next door. She banged on the adjoining wall to let her friend know it was fine to come in. A second later Elsa was making her way into the room, awkwardly looking behind herself as she struggled with her costume. 

“Could you give me a hand with these laces?” she asked, referring to the corset like back of her Swan Lake ballerina costume. It was pretty, graceful, and understated like her friend.

“Sure,” Emma said, gesturing for her to turn around so that she could help her with the intricate lacing. When she was done, Elsa brushed her hands down the front of her dress, making sure it looked right. 

“Thanks.” She looked Emma up and down and frowned. “You’re not ready yet? The party’s already started. I’m running late because of these damn laces. What’s your excuse?” she asked, taking in Emma’s jeans and leather jacket.

“Oh, I’m ready,” she said, grabbing a hat and a pair of sunglasses and putting them on.

Elsa frowned. “What the hell are you supposed to be?” 

Emma clipped her badge onto her hip. “An undercover cop.” 

Elsa stared at her for a long moment before crossing her arms in front of her chest and frowning. “Are you fucking kidding me, Emma?” 

“What?” she asked defensively. It was either this or a sheet with holes cut in it,” she said. “You know, to be a ghost,” she clarified when Elsa didn’t react. 

Elsa let her head fall into her hand, rubbing at her forehead in frustration. “Jesus Christ, Emma. It’s a costume party. You _are_ a cop. You can’t just go as yourself. This is a pathetic excuse for a costume and you know it.”

“You were actually a ballerina!” Emma insisted, gesturing at the dress she knew her friend had worn in a real performance in college. Elsa glared at her. She was annoyed at her friend, but probably more at the fact that she knew she was right. She’d really hoped they’d have let her get away with it. She was never one for dressing up. 

“That’s different,” Elsa explained slowly, like she was talking to an idiot. “I wouldn’t go around wearing this on the street. You haven’t even changed out of what you were wearing when we got here.” 

“So you think I should go with the ghost?” she asked, smirking a little. Elsa shook her head in exasperation. 

“Emma, this party is for Mary Margaret. You know what she wants it to be. She wants magic and beautiful dresses and men dressed as princes and heroes. This is her fairytale wedding and you cannot wear jeans to a masquerade ball.” 

Emma sighed. “Okay, but it’s a little late now. I don’t have another costume and nothing I brought is fancy enough to qualify as a gown.” 

Elsa thought for a second, looking her over as she tapped her fingers against her crossed arms. “Hang on a second,” she said finally. “I might have something.” And with that, she disappeared out of the room, trailing crinoline and feathers behind her.

Emma pulled the hat and sunglasses off, groaning as she pulled her hair out of it’s messy ponytail. She should have seen this coming. She should have known her friends wouldn’t stand for her cop out of a costume - they fought her every Halloween and this was her best friend’s wedding. She just… she didn’t have it in her. The whole fairy tales and True Love and princes and princesses - it just all felt so… fake, unrealistic. She didn’t want to get dolled up and attract the attention of some guy who would make her promises and then break them as soon as the lights came on and the masks came off. She remembered the last time she’d let some guy she met at a party convince her she meant something - she’d learned that lesson quickly. Never fall for a pretty face - especially one with an accent and a penchant for seducing blondes. 

“Here,” Elsa announced, returning to the room and shaking Emma out of her thoughts. She was holding a dress on a hanger, the skirt of it draped over her arm. It was beautiful. Ice blue and floor length with intricate beading. The neckline was modest but she could see the plunging back. It was Elsa embodied: elegant, sophisticated, and just a little ethereal.

“This is gorgeous,” Emma said, reaching out to tough some of the delicate stitching. “Where did you get it?” 

“I wore it to Mary Margaret’s black-tie New Years Eve party last year, remember?” Emma shook her head. “Oh right, you weren’t there - you had that case. Anyway, I forgot it here in the morning and haven’t been back to pick it up since. I feel like it would do nicely for tonight.” 

“You’re going to dress me up as a princess aren’t you,” Emma squeezed her eyes shut. Elsa beamed.

“You bet your ass I am!” she laughed. “If your brother’s going as Prince Charming, it’s only fair you get a royal makeover too. Come on. If I know Mary Margaret’s mom, I’m sure we can dig up a tiara or something in one of these rooms. Shall we?” Emma bit her lip. She knew she wasn’t going to win this one. “Hey, you’re doing this for Mary Margaret,” Elsa reminded her and then gestured pointedly to her own costume. “We all are.”

Emma sighed. “Okay. But you better have a damn good mask. If David sees me in this, he’ll never let me live it down.” Nor would Killian, she thought, cringing at the teasing that would surely ensue from him seeing her in something other than jeans. Elsa laughed and dragged Emma along in search of a crown. 

-/-

“Liam!” Killian called, poking his head into his brother’s room and looking around for his absentee sibling. “Are you nearly done putting your face on? The party’s in full swing and you’re missing it!”

“There’s a slight problem,” Liam’s voice carried across the room from the bathroom as he walked out and Killian had to put his fist to his mouth to stop from laughing at the sight of his brother. It didn’t work. “Shut up,” Liam warned as Killian burst out in a fit of laughter. Liam stood in front of him, looking not at all impressed in the tightest shirt and pants Killian had ever seen. The sleeves ended several inches above his wrists and the pants several inches above his ankles. Liam threw the mask he was holding at his brother. 

“I’m sorry,” Killian apologized, trying to contain himself. “I don’t think it fits,” he pointed out the obvious.

“Clearly it doesn’t fit, _little brother_ ,” Liam said with a glare. Killian returned it. 

“Younger brother,” he corrected.

“No, I believe in this case _little_ brother is correct,” he smirked, gesturing to himself again. He turned around to head back to the bathroom and Killian, who had been glaring, burst out laughing again. 

“Oh, I do hope Elsa’s an ass woman,” he said. “You’ll certainly win her over with pants that tight.” 

“Alright, enough. Give me your costume.”

“My costume,” Killian demanded, stepping back and placing a protective hand out in front of him. “Why?”

“Because this is your fault. You’re the one who gave me your old costume without accounting for the fact that I am the much taller and broader shouldered of the Jones brothers.” 

“Or the one who needs to cut back on sweets,” Killian shot back. “Besides,” he challenged, “how will this costume fit you if you’re so big and strong you can’t fit into that one?” 

“Give me the jacket and the jewellery,” Liam said. “I’ll find a pair of black pants and a buttoned shirt and it will have to do.” He eyed his brother who was still clinging protectively to his costume. “And the hook,” he demanded. 

“What will I wear then, if you’re going to take the very shirt off my back?”

“This,” Liam answered, gesturing to himself. “Should work. You’ve barely filled out since college,” he smirked. 

“I’ve never had any complaints.” Liam gave him a leveling look and Killian rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he ceded, shedding the beloved jacket from his shoulders and tossing it to his brother. Liam caught it in one hand and headed to the bathroom to change, pausing at his suitcase to grab a pair of pants and a shirt. 

“You know you’re blowing your chances at winning over Elsa though, don’t you? No dashing childhood crush to seduce her with.” 

Liam cracked the bathroom door open and poked his head out, tossing the costume at him. “I’m not trying to seduce anyone,” he frowned. “Besides,” he smirked. “Even if I was, I wouldn’t need a bloody costume to do so. Not all of us need glamour and trickery to convince a woman to speak to us.”

“Oi!” Killian shouted, offended. “I don’t need any tricks to get a woman to speak to me!”

“Is that why you pick a fight with Emma everytime you see her?” Liam’s voice was muffled through the door. 

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating,” Killian snapped. He was getting very tired of his brother speaking cryptically about he and Emma’s relationship. As though they were anything but friendly rivals. So what if he looked forward to seeing her at these get-togethers? So what if he was disappointed when she was kept away by work. He simply looked forward to having someone to spar with, someone who kept up with him and could challenge him. He loved a challenge, and if Emma Swan was anything, she was a challenge. 

“Of course not,” Liam patronized as he emerged in Killian’s jacket. He held out his hand and Killian passed him the pirate necklaces and the clip on earring that completed the look. “Better get dressed, party’s started,” Liam told him then looked him over carefully. “Isn’t ‘The Princess Bride’ Emma’s favorite movie as well?”

Killian looked down at the costume he held in his hands, ignoring the fact that it was, in fact, her favorite and that she might, just maybe, forget their rivalry for a second if they had some common ground. It would be interesting to speak to her without their prickly game standing between them for a moment. The last time they’d done that had been… well, a very long time ago indeed. “What of it?” he asked his brother and hoped Liam wouldn’t push the subject. 

“Nothing,” Liam said and when Killian met his eye he saw the same look he’d seen earlier. It unsettled him. But then his brother smirked and the moment was broken. “Just too bad you don’t still have the ponytail.” 

Killian scowled, whipping the hook off his arm and shoving it a little too forcefully against his brother’s chest, turning to storm out of the room to the sound of Liam’s laughter following along behind him. “It was one semester!” he shouted but Liam only laughed harder. 

-/-

Emma poured herself another drink from the bar, readjusting her mask which unfortunately, though beautiful, had the annoying habit of sliding down her nose. One corner was still damp from when it had dipped into her drink. She didn’t know how people did this back in the day. Wearing masks was fun, the mystery of it all and the anonymity was almost thrilling, but it was highly inconvenient. She set the drink down to tighten the silk string that kept it on for the tenth time that night.

The party was in full swing. The house was packed, every room full of people squished together dancing, laughing, drinking, and shouting at each other to be heard over the music. Emma looked around proudly. She had to say, she’d done a pretty good job for someone who hated fairy tales. She loved parties, though, so she chalked it up to that. Well, that and Elsa and Belle’s beautiful masks and Ruby’s awesome taste in music… and David had helped with the decorations. It had definitely been a group effort.

Emma scanned the crowds, trying to spot any of her friends and realized that she couldn’t. She almost laughed. The masquerade thing really did work. She knew what Elsa and Liam - and likely Killian - were dressed as, but she hadn’t seen anyone else from the bridal party’s costumes and there were so many friends and family here to celebrate that she wasn’t even sure she knew all the guests, let alone that she’d be able to identify them with half their faces covered. 

She made her way across the kitchen which was being used as a bar and into what could only be described as a great hall where people were dancing, hoping to spot Elsa among the throngs of people. She perked up when she caught sight of white feathers and excellent posture. Squeezing between Cinderella and Gaston who looked about two seconds away from making out - _weird_ \- she crossed the room toward her friend, only to stop dead when she caught sight of a silver hook and a generous display of chest hair. 

Ugh. Killian. Elsa was talking to Killian. His face was half covered in a silky black mask but she’d seen that stupid pirate costume enough times to know it had to be him. She rolled her eyes as he leaned down to say something in Elsa’s ear and her friend threw her head back laughing, her hand coming up to rest on his bare chest as she leaned in closer. 

_Gross_. Emma thought Elsa had better taste than that. She wondered what Killian could possibly be saying to make her friend blush and giggle like some infatuated school girl. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and the uneasiness in her stomach when Elsa ran her hand up from his chest to his shoulder under the guise of trying to hear better over the music. His hand went to the small of her back and the smile on Killian’s face felt like a punch to the gut. She’d seen that smile, relaxed, excited, soft. She’d only ever seen it so rarely before and only ever… 

She turned away, done with watching the disturbing display in front of her. If Killian and Elsa wanted to flirt and whisper little secrets to each other and exchange meaningful little touches, she wasn’t going to stick around to see it. Really, she thought Elsa had better taste. She thought Elsa was a better friend than to… what? What exactly was Elsa guilty of? Cozying up to her hot friend? Getting close to Emma’s… rival didn’t feel like the right word. 

She just wasn’t prepared for it, that was all. There had always been some sort of unspoken thing between the women of the group - Killian was no man’s land - or, rather, no woman's land. Despite his constant flirtatiousness and innuendos, nobody ever took it seriously, nobody ever really considered dating him or going to bed with him, at least not since that night. But there was never really a reason, no agreement made. Elsa could do what she liked. Emma didn’t care. Why would she care? Killian, while awful, was undeniably attractive and if Elsa wanted to - well, Emma didn’t care.

“I see my brother’s not wasting any time,” she heard behind her, the voice somewhat dulled by the thrumming of the music. Emma turned, smiling when she was met with bright blue eyes, just noticeable through a black leather mask, and a cheeky smirk. She looked over the costume he wore so well, a little flustered despite herself at seeing someone dressed as her childhood (and adulthood) crush. 

“Liam,” she greeted, holding up her glass in a toast. “How are you enjoying the party?” The smile slipped from his face for a moment before he bit his lip against another. 

“Well, I must say it’s just gotten infinitely better,” he answered. 

“Ah, so I see Killian isn’t the only smooth talker in the Jones family,” she teased.

“Alas, it’s a family trait. Inherited from our father unfortunately,” he answered, his smile faltering for only a second. “What do you suppose he’s saying?” he asked, gesturing at his brother and Elsa. 

Emma scoffed. “If I know him, he’s probably showering her with insincere compliments and using that inherited silver tongue to convince a perfectly intelligent woman that she wants to do something incredibly stupid.”

“And what’s that?”

“Sleep with Killian Jones.” 

“I feel as though I should defend him.”

“No need,” Emma assured him. “Everyone knows who Killian is.”

He frowned. “And who is he?”

“Take your pick: playboy, womanizer, egomaniac. I swear David and the guys must just keep him around for entertainment. There is not a sincere bone in that man’s body. Well,” she laughed, turning from the scene in front of them back to the better-Jones. “Maybe one.” 

“I see.” His jaw was tight and Emma worried she’d gone too far. She’d forgotten for a moment that this was his brother. She thought about how she’d feel if someone talked about David like this. But then again, David would never deserve it. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, regardless. “I shouldn’t insult your family.” 

He shrugged. “I’m sure you have your reasons. I summarize then that you’re not a fan of him.” There was a long pause before he spoke again. “Surely he can be a bit of a scoundrel at times but I wonder… What exactly is the nature of your feud with my brother? Killian never told me anything apart from the fact that you seem to despise one another.” 

Emma hesitated. She’d never told anyone this story before. Sure, her friends had asked in the past, wondering why she hated him so much, especially given their first meeting. But she’d always skirted the question, not wanting to explain herself, not wanting to admit how stupid she’d been, how blind and how reckless. It was humiliating really. But Liam was sweet, and seemed genuinely interested. And she’d just spent the last few minutes insulting his only brother (as far as she knew) and she felt she at least owed him an explanation for it. 

“Did Killian ever tell you about the night we met?” 

He cleared his throat. “I don’t believe so,” he said, bringing a finger up to scratch a spot behind his ear in a way that was so reminiscent of his brother it threw her for a moment. Between their eyes and their mannerisms and their smiles, for all their differences, the Jones brothers certainly had a lot in common. There was no mistaking their kinship. 

“We met at Will’s birthday party about five years ago. He and Killian had a class together so Will brought him along with our usual group. You might not believe it, I don’t think anyone would really, but I didn’t hate your brother the first time I met him.”

“Oh no?” he asked, waiting for her to continue.

“No, we - we actually hit it off really well. He was funny and easy to talk to and actually kind of…” Emma trailed off, finger running over the rim of her glass as she remembered his easy smiles and the way his shoulders shook when he laughed. She remembered the way he spoke, loudly and animatedly with the group but also softly and what she’d thought was sincerely when it was just the two of them. “Sweet,” she finished lamely. “He was sweet.” 

She cleared her throat. “I liked him. I was stupid and young and he was charming and well, you know how he is, he’s your brother.” She couldn’t look at him now when she told him the story. It was too embarrassing. She felt as vulnerable now as she had that night and while she’d let herself then, it had been a hard lesson on why she should avoid letting herself feel that way again. 

“I do,” he said.

“Anyway, we ended up spending most of the night together in a back booth in the bar. Everyone was dancing and drinking and we just sat there talking.” They’d talked for hours. They’d talked about nothing, silly things, movies, books, what they’d wanted to be when they grew up. But also about real things, things Emma had never talked about with anyone apart from David, not even her closest friends; about her childhood before Ruth, about Neal, about what she wanted out of life but was afraid of going for, afraid of failing. She hadn’t even meant to tell him most of it, but he’d listened in that rare way so few people do, the way they do when they actually care about what you have to say and aren’t just waiting for their chance to talk. She felt stupid now for all the things she’d told him. 

“We didn’t even realise the others had left until the lights came on and we were being kicked out because the bar was closing,” she continued. “He, um,” she cleared her throat. “He asked me back to his place but I said no.” She rubbed at her neck, feeling awkward now sharing this with Killian’s brother as she recalled the details of the night and the next morning. She’d said ‘no’ because she liked him, ‘no’ because she didn’t want to go and ruin something good by turning it into a one night stand. 

Suddenly, his hand was on her arm, fingers brushing over the bare skin there and her breath caught at how warm he felt against her. It was comforting, familiar though, and almost unsettling in that familiarity. She remembered another set of fingers running up her arm outside her apartment building years ago.

“You don’t have to tell me -” he started. 

“No it’s okay,” she cut him off. “He was surprisingly okay with it,” she said. Well, not so surprising considering what he got up to later. Liam didn’t need to know about the kiss - or the other one for that matter. She bit her lip, remembering. “It was late so he offered to walk me back to my apartment. I lived in kind of a shady area back then,” she explained. “He did and we went our separate ways,” _after a while_ , she thought, “and we made plans to meet up the next morning.”

“So, what happened?” he asked, his fingers still idly tracing patterns on her arm up to her shoulder. 

“What happened,” Emma started, clearing her throat again as the anger set in. Anger was good. Anger helped with the humiliation, with the hurt. “What happened is I went to his place the next morning and some girl in a towel answered the door.” She saw his eyes widen. She couldn’t see his eyebrows but she knew they were likely shooting up to his hairline. 

“What?” he asked, mouth gaping open. 

“Yeah. Some blonde, obviously a blonde. He’s got a type, you know. She told me Killian was in the shower and it wasn’t hard to figure out that after I turned him down, he went out and found someone else to get his rocks off with. So yeah, that’s when I realised exactly what kind of guy he is.” He’d probably only walked her home as a favor to Will.

“I’m sorry, love, that must have been awful,” he said. Emma shrugged. 

“It is what it is. Honestly I’m just annoyed at myself for not seeing it sooner. I’ve met enough guys who are only after one thing and I don’t know why I convinced myself he wasn’t.” She gave him a small, insincere smile.“Must have been the rum,” she shrugged. There hadn’t been any rum though. Neither of them had had a thing to drink since they’d sat down in that back booth, hadn’t felt the need for it. It had been so easy.

“Perhaps,” he started, and Emma turned to look at him. She’d been fixated on her glass for the last few minutes. She couldn’t really make out his expression in the dim lights, his voice soft enough to be nearly drowned out by the music. “Perhaps you should ask my brother about that night,” he suggested. Emma’s eyes snapped to his in surprise and what almost felt like betrayal. 

“Why would I do that?” she demanded, feeling defensive. She pulled back a step, wanting to put a little distance between them after this unexpected turn - what was it with her and baring her soul to the Jones brothers? Was she that much of a sucker for blue eyes and an accent? - but he followed her, moving with her and leaning in close to speak so he wouldn’t have to shout over the music. 

“Because, Swan, there are two sides to every story and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that it’s always better to give someone the benefit of the doubt.” 

Emma blinked at him, slightly distracted by him being so close to her. The room was crowded and she felt the stickiness clinging to the back of her neck from the heat of so many people packed into one place. A lot of that heat seemed to be coming from him. His hand was still on her arm, having drifted down to her wrist, his thumb tracing over the back of her hand as he spoke, his mouth next to her ear and his breath warm against it. The smell of him was heady around her, like leather and sea air and - wait, had he just called her Swan?

She looked up then, narrowing her eyes as she tried to make out his face under his mask. Something about him… something was familiar, more familiar than brotherly resemblance. His jaw ticked, the muscle clenching in a way that was so… she'd seen it before, it - Oh. _Oh, no way_. She looked him up and down, taking in the lean frame, the dark, flippy hair that stuck out of his mask rather than the curls she expected, the sharpness of his jawline where Liam’s was softer, the shape of his mouth… Killian. Oh, he was a dead man.

“Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” he said.

She turned her head up to meet his eyes, set her chin like she always did when she was ready for a fight. “Maybe you don’t know _me_ as well as you think you do,” she started, ready to call him out on his little ruse and rip him a new one for tricking her.

“You’re right,” he said and some of her fight was lost to her surprise at the way his voice softened. Who the hell was this Killian in front of her now? Where was the fight, the ego? His hand was still stroking hers, his eyes were sincere and unpretentious and even a little self-deprecating. “So, just who are you, Swan?”

She pulled back, drawing her hand from his and crossing her arms over her chest, trying to wither him with her stare. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Wouldn’t he indeed. She was sure he’d love to find out all about her so that he could use it as fuel for their arguments, like some game. The nerve of -

He ducked his head, catching her eyes and stepping even closer to her. Her breath caught at the openness and the sincerity she saw there. “Perhaps I would,” he said and Emma felt her heart pounding against her ribcage. He hadn’t looked at her like that since that night. Since the night she felt for the first time in years that she’d found someone who understood her, someone she connected with, another lost soul, someone she could actually care about, maybe even - She wanted to believe him. She wanted it to be real. It sounded real. It _felt_ real. And he was so close and the way he looked at her..

Emma didn’t remember moving, didn’t remember putting her drink down, but suddenly her hands were gripping the sides of his face and pulling his lips to hers as she rose up on her toes to meet him. He froze against her for a moment, in shock probably she realised, and she grasped the reality of exactly what she’d just done and how stupid it was. But before she could step back, his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, his body flush with hers as his other hand traveled up to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck. 

She should stop this. This was _Killian_ for god’s sake. Killian, who she hated. Killian, who she swore she’d never let get under her skin again. Killian, who was currently backing them against the wall behind her. She gasped as her back collided with the hard surface and he used the opportunity to slant his mouth over hers, letting his tongue slide into her mouth, making her let out a sound she should have been embarrassed about as heat rushed into her belly. He growled as his hand found her hip, tugging roughly and pressing them even closer together. 

She knew she should stop it. This was Killian. Killian, who knew how to push every single one of her buttons, who’d pushed her and challenged her from that first night. Killian, who she looked forward to seeing at every get together if only so they could spend ten minutes insulting each other and she could see his mouth twist into that playful smirk. Killian of the _Swans_ and _loves_. Of the soft smiles that crinkled his eyes. What if she’d been wrong? What if she’d misjudged him? All these years. 

Emma slowed, her hands which had at some point ended up in his hair released their grip and she let one settle around his shoulders, the other sliding down over his chest to rest in the v of his shirt. She could feel his heart racing under her palm, matching her own’s frantic beating. Killian froze again, and then something changed. His hand released it’s nearly painful grip on her hip and slid up her back to rest between her shoulder blades. The hand that was fisted in her hair came around to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek as his lips slowed over hers, his movements no longer desperate and needy but gentle and exploratory. 

She let him kiss her, let him open her mouth wider under his own, let him pull at her lips and slide his tongue against hers with a give and take that felt so familiar it sent her heart racing again as a warmth built in her chest and in her stomach and bloomed out through her limbs. She felt his shoulders relax under her own as he melted against her, pressing her against the wall like he wanted to feel every inch of her skin against his through their clothes, feel her heart beating against his and drown her in the warmth that was radiating off of him. She was burning up from the inside out. 

He pulled back after a long moment, pressing his forehead to hers, eyes still closed and lips still close enough to touch if she just tilted her head every so slightly. The hand that had been at her cheek slid along her jaw, thumb brushing over her bottom lip as his breath puffed hot against her face. His fingers trailed slowly and featherlight along her spine.

“Emma,” he breathed as her hand came to his cheek, tracing the stubble under her fingers. She was only just pulling him back in when the music stopped. 

The lights coming on were like a bucket of ice water being thrown over her. Somewhere, someone was announcing that it was midnight, that it was time for everyone to remove their masks and reveal who they really were. 

She saw it in his eyes, the regret as he reached for his mask and it hit her like a blow to the chest. She caught his hand, stopping him from ruining the only excuse she had. If he didn’t, then she could claim she didn’t know it was him. She could convince herself it was all just a mistake. “Swan,” he spoke again, searching her eyes for something she couldn’t give him. This wasn’t who they were. 

“Tell anyone about this and I’ll kill you,” she warned. She watched as his lips pressed together and his head fell before he nodded. 

“Fair enough,” he said, dropping his hands and stepping back just enough that she could squeeze by. 

She did. And then she ran. 


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this two-shot somehow became a four-shot. Brace yourselves for even more denial and unresolved sexual tension. 
> 
> Huge enormous thank you to @ultraluckycatnd for putting up with this ever-growing fic and for all my run-on sentences and last minute ideas. You're a lovely beta and human <3

_ 5 years earlier… _

“There you are!” Will exclaimed as Emma, David, and Mary Margaret made their way into the bar, shaking the snow off their coats and stomping it off the ends of their boots. “I thought you were gonna abandon me on this, the most holy of days,” he continued, slurring just a little on the last word. 

Emma shook her head, rolling her eyes. Clearly, Will had already taken advantage of the free birthday drinks Ruby had promised him if he had his birthday party at The Rabbit Hole where she worked so that she wouldn’t have to miss it on account of not being able to get out of her shift. 

“I don’t know that you can  _ really  _ call your birthday a holy day, Will,” Emma pointed out.

“Am I not a blessing to all of you?” he asked, throwing an arm out. “A gift even? Think of how dull all your lives would be without me,” he continued and Emma rolled her eyes even harder. “And still you show up twenty minutes late to my birthday party!” 

“Sorry, David had to blow dry his hair,” Emma sighed, nodding to her brother who was still shaking snowflakes out of his shoulder-length hair. 

“Well I wasn’t going to walk over in this storm with wet hair now was I?” David answered defensively.

“What you oughta do is chop it off, Mate,” Will suggested. “You look like a  _ Hanson _ reject.” 

“Thanks, Will, I do think I look handsome,” David smirked and Will scoffed at him. 

“We brought you a present,” Mary Margaret piped up then, preventing Will from saying whatever comeback he definitely had. He and David could go back and forth like this for hours if given the chance. It was annoying really.

Will was thoroughly distracted by the perfectly wrapped box Mary Margaret handed him and thoroughly pleased to discover that it was a bottle of very expensive -  _ stupidly expensive  _ Emma had complained thinking of her pathetic salary - bottle of whiskey. 

“You are a treasure, love,” Will told Mary Margaret, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Think you’ll ever wise up enough to dump Legolas over here and make an honest man of me?”

David scowled but Mary Margaret just patted Will’s chest. “I think I’ll keep him around, sorry.” 

Will sighed. “Is it the hair? Because I think I could pull it off really.” 

“Oh god, not you too,” Emma groaned. “I think you two would legally have to start a boy band if you did that.” 

“Too right,” he said. “At least one of us has to stay handsome.” 

“I thought that was why you’d invited me tonight,” a voice interrupted, and Emma turned to see a man she didn’t know walking over carrying two pints. He handed one to Will and took a sip from the other, grinning over the rim of the glass.  _ Handsome _ didn’t really cover it. 

Emma let her eyes rove over him from head to toe. If she hadn’t been so distracted, she may have managed to be a little more discrete, but as she dragged her gaze up from the long lines of his neck, along the sharp edge of his unshaven jaw to his unreasonably blue eyes, she found them looking right at her. She jumped, feeling her face going red at getting caught staring, looking quickly at Will for a distraction but it wasn’t much good as her friend was currently introducing the attractive stranger to the group. 

“This is Killian. I found him wandering the halls of the theatre department and have generously taken him under my wing.” Emma was still avoiding looking at him when David snorted and turned to Killian. 

“My sympathies,” he said, reaching out to shake the stranger’s hand. Mary Margaret shook it next, introducing herself and finally, Emma couldn't go on pretending like he wasn’t standing right next to her without seeming rude. She braced herself, swallowing her embarrassment and turned, reaching out her hand. 

“Emma,” she said. “Emma Swan.” His hand was warm under hers, a sharp contrast to the cool rings he wore, and dwarfed her own. He held on just a little longer than could be passed off as unintentional. 

“Pleasure,” he said, smiling, and Emma noticed the way the corners of his eyes crinkled a little when he did. A smile tugged at her lips as he waited just another moment before letting go. “Will didn’t tell me he had such lovely friends.” It should have sounded like a line. It was clearly a line, she tried to convince herself. But his smile was sincere and he was looking at her with an unguarded expression that sent her heart racing in a way it hadn’t since she was a teenager. 

“Oi! Watch it,” Will warned suddenly, breaking whatever unspoken thing was passing between her and some guy she’d never met before. “None of that,” he insisted, waving a hand between her and Killian. “That’s my sister you’re talking to. Off limits!” 

Emma scoffed. 

“Actually, she’s  _ my _ sister,” David cut in, arms crossed over his chest and standing a little straighter than he had been a minute ago - though it was hard to take him seriously with the hair. He was glaring at Killian the way he used to glare at any boy who looked at her when they were in high school and Emma rolled her eyes at how stupid they were being. 

“She was my sister first!” Will challenged. Emma watched as a slightly confused look crossed Killian’s face before some kind of realization replaced it. He looked at her and it was there again, that something, that unguarded understanding, that familiarity. She couldn’t put her finger on it. She felt like he knew her somehow - instantly, in that way that only Will had before. Like the way that only lost kids recognized each other. 

Before Will could speak, Mary Margaret put a stop to it. “You’re both children. She can have two brothers. Learn to share. And stop trying to intimidate poor Killian for saying she’s pretty.” 

Emma blushed furiously. 

Killian saw. He hid a small smile before he scratched behind his ear, shrugging and raising a brow. “I was referring to David, actually.” 

Emma burst out laughing, a loud, abrasive guffaw that left everyone silently stunned for a moment. David and Will were looking at her like she’d grown a second head while Killian beamed, the tips of his ears going pink. A small, knowing smirk crossed Mary Margaret’s face and Emma didn’t like it one bit. Thankfully though, she also saved her, reaching out and stroking David’s jaw. 

“It’s the hair, hon. It’s too powerful.” 

David laughed, throwing in a dramatic little hair flip and the weird, showy bravado thing that had been going on between the three men melted away. Will led them all back to the bar, insisting that they couldn’t spend his birthday sober because that would be sacrilege. 

As they were standing waiting for their order, through what she was sure was some careful maneuvering on Mary Margaret’s part, Emma found herself standing next to Killian. She could feel the heat of his skin radiating under his jacket where it was pressed against her arm, warming her even through the sweater that she was wrapped in. 

“Can I buy you a drink, Swan?” he offered before smirking at her. “I figure maybe you could use one, being stuck with Will as a brother and all. It’s the least I could do.” 

She smiled despite herself. “He’s not actually my brother,” she pointed out. 

“Aye, I gathered that.”

“Oh yeah? How?” 

“The accent was a bit of a giveaway.” Ah yes, the accent. The British accent that he shared with Will. The British accent that had never done a thing for her in all her years of knowing Will but was suddenly sending her insides flipping with every syllable. 

“How do you know we weren’t separated at birth? Forced to live apart until we met by chance at a summer camp and hijinxed our parents into falling in love?” 

He laughed, his eyebrow ticking up in a way that was far too tempting. “ _ Were you _ ?” 

“If I say no, do I still get the sympathy drink?” 

“No,” he said and a small wave of disappointment rippled through her. “I’m afraid if you say no, you’ll have to settle for a drink that’s an obvious ploy to keep you talking to me a little longer. Then maybe I can figure out just who you are after all.” 

Emma bit her lip, eyeing him again, considering it - briefly wondering if there was a dark hallway somewhere she could drag him into, but then deciding against it (too many witnesses) - but then doubting herself. It felt too easy. It was never easy. Easy was scary and he kept looking at her like… well, like he wanted to  _ know _ her -  _ and _ maybe pull her into a dark hallway himself. She’d have run if not for one inexplicable, bewildering problem. She wanted to know him too.

Ruby leaned over the bar in front of them finally. She looked at Killian appreciatively. “Hey Em, who’s your friend?” she asked. Killian glanced at Ruby, smiling and offering her a nod before turning back to Emma, waiting for her to answer.  _ Fuck it _ . 

“This is Killian,” she said. “He’s buying.” 

***

“So why theatre?” she asked and Killian raised a brow at her over his glass. They’d found their way into a booth at some point. Emma had let him buy her a drink and it was the same drink she was still holding now. His own was nearly full too, having had so few chances to sip from it when nearly every other thing she said made him laugh or feel the overwhelming desire to ask more questions. There had been no awkward silences, no uncomfortable fiddling with glasses or long drinks taken as an excuse when he didn’t have anything to say. Slowly, very slowly, he was chipping away at the enigma that was Emma Swan, the woman with two brothers she wasn’t related to. 

“Why theatre? As opposed to what? Film? Television? Personally I’m a fan of the stage, but I don’t turn my nose up at good binge-watch.”

“No,” she rolled her eyes, something he’d noticed she did whenever she was trying to pretend she didn’t find him entertaining. “Will said he found you in the Theatre department. Why are you taking Theatre? I know Will had to take a drama elective for his English program, but what about you? Do you have your sights set on being Hollywood’s next heart-throb?” 

“You think I could be a heart-thob?” he asked, giving her a cheeky grin and loving the way she rolled her eyes again, particularly since her cheeks flushed while she did it. “Firstly, Will didn’t  _ find _ me in the drama department,” he laughs. “I wasn’t wandering aimlessly hoping to be found by another expat. He was lost though, couldn’t find his class, so I showed him around. And secondly, while I’m flattered you think my face could be taped up on the wall of some preeteen girl’s bedroom-” She scoffed. “My sights are set a little lower than that.” 

“So what are you planning to do then?”

“Teach.” 

“Teach?” she repeated, as though the very idea was unfathomable.

“Aye.”

“You’re going to teach drama?”

“That’s the plan.”

“ _ Why _ ?” she asked, frowning. He didn’t take offence. He was used to this question. Why spend his days being underpaid to spend time with a bunch of teenagers, most of whom would be taking his class hoping for an easy credit?

He shrugged. “I was an awkward kid growing up,” he explained. “I had a lot going on at home, didn’t like having people over or talking much about myself. I joined a school play,” he smiled at her, a little embarrassed, “to impress a girl, actually, and made some friends. I learned how to fit in, how to be somebody else when I didn’t feel like being me.” He cleared his throat. “And, how to act like everything was fine when it wasn’t - especially when it wasn’t - and it helped me get through it. So I figure, maybe I can help some other kid who’s having a tough time get through it.” 

“Oh.” She was looking at him curiously, like something he’d said had surprised her. He didn’t know why he’d told her. He didn’t have to tell her all of it. He could have just said that he liked working with kids and that his brother had always said he had a flare for the dramatic. Both of those reasons were true, but they weren’t the real reason he chose this vocation. But while he might have expected pity or some kind of awkwardness from her after his confession, there was none of that, only understanding; like maybe she’d had to learn young how to pretend everything was okay too. 

“So what about you?” he asked. “What do you do?” She’d mentioned she wasn’t studying at the university with the rest of her friends, but had been vague on the reason.

“I’m a cop, actually,” she said, straightening her shoulders and making herself taller, like she should be taken seriously, but he could see the slight trepidation in her eyes, the expectation that he would cut and run at the new information. 

“Really?” he asked, embarrassed at how surprised he sounded. 

“Yeah, why? Intimidated?”

“No - well, maybe a little,” he admitted, giving her a small, mirthful smile, and letting out a silent sigh of relief when she smiled back.

“I swear, if you ask me if I have handcuffs I’ll -”

He laughed, full and surprising. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised before raising an eyebrow at her. “Or I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t brought it up…” She narrowed her eyes at him but he could see the smirk pulling at the corners of her lips, so he raised his hands up in a show of innocence. “How long have you been a police officer?” 

“About two years.” 

“Do you like it?” he pressed. He could tell by the look on her face that there was more to whatever she was thinking than what she was about to tell him. 

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“But..?” 

She sighed, fidgeting with the rim of her glass for the first time since they’d sat down. “I like it,” she said finally. He didn’t quite believe her and it must have shown on his face. “I do,” she defended. “I just, I want to do more, ya know?” 

“More how?” 

“I…” she bit her lip, and looked him over carefully. “I’ve been thinking of taking some classes at the college, criminology and psychology and stuff, of applying to be a detective in a few years. I don’t know, it’s dumb.” 

“It’s not dumb at all,” he insisted. “That sounds like a brilliant plan!” She would be good at it too, he could tell. In the hour or so they’d been sitting here, he’d already revealed more to her than he’d ever intended to. But maybe that was just him, maybe it was just  _ her _ . 

“You think?” she asked, and he hated the self-doubt in her voice.

“I do.” There was something in the air between them, a vulnerability that hadn't been there before and he tried to lighten the mood. “Are you going to catch serial killers like on Criminal Minds?” he asked and she smiled a little before something a little far away settled in her expression. 

“No, I - I want to help find people.” She looked at him then, met his eyes as she admitted her own version of joining the school play. “I want to help people find the people they love, the people they’ve lost.” 

He didn’t have to ask. He knew. He knew because he could see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice. She’d lost someone, maybe more than once. He knew because he’d seen that look before - in the mirror, on his brother’s face - the look you get when you’ve been abandoned. She had two brothers. And she wasn’t related to either of them. Maybe it was a risk, he worried it would scare her off, make her feel too vulnerable, but he took it, placing his hand over hers where it rested on her knee.

“I think you should. I think there are people out there just waiting for you to help. It would be a shame not to try.” 

She looked at him for a moment, searching his face for something. He didn’t know what she was looking for, so he decided to take another chance. He’d lay it all out, let everything he was feeling show on his face. He wouldn’t hide anything; not how much she impressed him, or how much he believed in her, how connected he felt, like they understood each other, or how much he liked her already. It was too soon, way too soon; he hadn’t felt this way since Milah and even then it hadn’t been so immediate, so overwhelming. It was terrifying, but it made him want it all the more. 

He could tell the exact moment she read him, so easily he wondered not for the first time tonight what exactly it was that kept passing between them, making them open books, so easy for each other to read. He saw her shock first, and then her panic. 

He tried not to let it disappoint him as much as it did, but the fear that he’d messed up and given up too much too soon twisted in his gut. He should have known better. He knew she’d been abandoned, he knew the kind of fear and self-preservation that brought with it. He’d lived with it most of his life. This was the moment she’d run. He’d ruined it. 

But then, to his complete and utter surprise, she didn’t. Her face and body seemed to somehow relax and steel themselves at the same time, like she was determined to let herself not be afraid. She was a contradiction and an enigma wrapped up in a challenge and he held his breath waiting to see what she would do next, what she would say next. 

No one could have been more surprised than him - apart from maybe her - when she looked down at their hands, his still laying over hers on her knee, studying it for a long time as he held his breath. And then, ever so slowly, like she was testing herself, or maybe testing him, she turned her palm up under his and their fingers fell seamlessly between each other’s. He didn’t know if he’d done it or if she had but suddenly, he was holding hands with Emma Swan in a booth at the back of the bar. He was so damn happy he’d agreed to come out tonight. 

It took him such a long time to look up from where he’d been staring at their hands and grinning like an idiot that he didn’t notice she was watching him until his eyes met hers. When he did, he saw that small shadow of doubt still in hers but she gave him a tentative smile, her eyes still daring one of them to run and he responded by tightening his grip and letting his thumb run over the back of her palm.

He heard her shaky inhale and all he could think was how badly he wanted to kiss her, to make her forget all her doubts, wipe them from her mind with his lips on hers. Will, however, chose that precise moment to stand up on the table at which they were sitting, shouting at another blonde woman Killian hadn’t yet been introduced to.

“I’m just as graceful as you are, Elsa!” he slurred loudly before attempting a twirl, one ankle giving out under him before he slipped off the table and hit the floor with a wicked thud.

Killian turned to Emma, wincing. “Perhaps, in the meantime, you could practice by helping Will find his self-respect.” 

***

“It  _ wasn't _ ! Oh god, anything but that,” Killian begged, his stomach cramping at how hard he was laughing.

“Look, nobody is more upset about this than I am okay,” she said, sighing, her head falling into her hand in embarrassment. Her other hand was no longer holding his but was instead resting on her leg which was pressed against his own under the table. They’d shifted at some point, both of them turning to face one another in the small space, one of her bent knees pressed against his hip and allowing him to ever so casually drop his hand on her thigh whenever he leaned in closer to be heard over the music which had picked up in the last few hours. 

“ _ Will _ , though?” he pressed, loving the way she glared at him when he wouldn’t let it drop. “ _ Will _ was your first kiss?  _ Will? _ ” He looked over to where Will was currently struggling to both hold himself up on the bar and flirt with a small brunette dressed like a librarian. 

“We were  _ six _ !” she defended. “I'd  _ just  _ met him! It was a dare!” 

“He’s your brother!”

“He’s not  _ actually _ my brother. There’s no blood. Let’s make that perfectly clear,” she said, looking over at the man in question.

“Of course he’s not,” Killian said, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Guy like that, with a face like that? Will could never have such a pretty sister.” He laughed as she rolled her eyes at him.

“That was terrible." 

“It was,” he admitted, noting that she was smiling at him nonetheless, noticing that ever so faint pink that kept appearing on her cheeks beneath the freckles he found so captivating was present again. He looked around at where David was currently helping Will to his feet and then out into a cab, half expecting to be threatened again for his compliment. “But it’s the truth.”

The pink in her cheeks deepened as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, the tips of her fingers reaching out to brush against his leg. “Okay, your turn,” she told him.

Killian was so distracted by the feeling of her hand on his thigh that he had to blink at her a few times, trying to figure out what she was talking about. “My turn?” 

“I just told you the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done. You owe me.” 

“Sorry, Swan,” he smiled, reaching an arm across the back of the booth, getting distracted once again when his fingers found her hair. “I’ve never done an embarrassing thing in my life.” 

Emma scoffed. “You literally just used the worst line in history on me. You should be embarrassed  _ right now _ . I’m calling bullshit.”

He shrugged. “It’s only embarrassing if I regret it.” He beamed as she rolled her eyes at him again. Finding new ways to make her do that was becoming one of his favorite things.  _ That _ and finding new ways to make her lean in and brush her hand against his arm or his leg. He was sure he would find many more favorite things the longer he spent with her. 

“Okay Casanova,” she mocked and he laughed again. But he did owe her. For all the things that had been admitted tonight, kissing Will was by far the most traumatic. 

“Alright, fine,” he said. “I’ll tell you the one embarassing thing I’ve ever done in my life.” She scoffed again and he smirked. “You see this scar?” he asked, pointing to his cheek. She nodded. “I got this when I was ten. I had a crush on my babysitter. I was horribly, irrevocably in love with her.” Her eyebrow ticked up as a mirthful smile began to curl her lips. “Alas, it was doomed from the start. She was fourteen and she told me I was too young for her. So, I decided to prove her wrong and show her how grown up I was... by breaking into my father’s bathroom and finding his shaving kit.”

She gasped. “You didn’t.” 

“I did. If my age hadn’t foiled my chance at my first love, then her having to call my dad to bring me to the emergency room certainly did.” Her hand fell over her mouth as a pitying laugh left her. “There you have it, my first romantic humiliation,” he teased. 

She shook her head, her smile turning kind rather than mocking. “No,” she told him, reaching out. “I think it’s sweet.” Her hand came up along the side of his jaw, her thumb brushing gently over the scar on his cheek. “You were a little romantic.” 

He could feel the warmth of her palm against his skin and the warmth blooming in his chest at how well she’d read him again. He was a romantic, or he had been for most of his life. Love had been the primary driving force for most of his life. Not always romantic love, there was his love for his mother and for his brother as well, but he knew himself. He hadn’t believed in much as a child or as an adult, but he'd believed in love. 

Despite that, he’d only fallen in love twice in his life - once with his babysitter, and with Milah.  _ Milah _ . He’d loved her more than anything; it was intense and all-consuming, like he couldn’t breathe without her. And when she died, she took all the breath in his lungs and all the love in his body with her. 

He felt as though he hadn’t been able to take a breath since. He'd left his home, what was left of his family, his brother, and had run away, as far away as he could, just trying to find somewhere where everything didn’t remind him of her, where it didn’t hurt to breathe, to live. And he’d failed. For five years he’d failed to find any hope of feeling whole again, of feeling happy, of believing that love was anything but wasted years and endless torment. Until now. 

Now, sitting across from Emma Swan, listening to her laugh and mock him and listen to him and trust him, he felt the knot that had been in his chest loosen for the first time in half a decade. He could hear his past selves screaming at him, both to run from the inevitable pain it would bring if he fell in love again, and to jump in with both feet at the possibility,  _ the chance, _ that it wouldn’t. 

He reached for her hand, catching her fingers in his own. Her smile shifted, faded as it was replaced by something else, something wanting and hopeful, if not a little afraid. He knew that fear, he felt it now, he understood it. But she didn’t pull away. Carefully, he laced his fingers through hers and turned to brush his lips against her wrist. He heard her shaky intake above the noise in the room. He couldn’t hear the music or the celebrations. All he could hear and see and feel and  _ breathe  _ was her. 

When he looked at her, her eyes darkened as she watched him and he knew she could feel it too and that he’d regret it for the rest of his miserable life if he didn’t take a chance. He pulled her to him, his heart racing at the first brush of her lips against his and when she leaned into him, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him back, he knew he was a goner. 

His hand found her hair as his other wrapped around her waist, trying to bring her as close to him as he could in the little booth as her mouth opened under his. He took his time to kiss her, exploring and discovering with hands and lips and teeth as he breathed her in and let her fill his lungs with every little sigh she let out. 

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, hidden away in a corner of the bar, wrapped up in one another but he did know that he could do this forever and never tire of it. He didn’t think he could ever tire of her hands in his hair or on his shoulders or on his chest; that he would get enough of the taste of her mouth and the softness of her lips and hair and skin against his touch. He was pretty sure that if he went on kissing Emma Swan forever, all he would ever want is more. He would gladly face a hundred Davids and Wills if it meant he could stay wrapped up in this moment just a little bit longer. 

But before he knew what was happening, Ruby sat down across from them, her boisterous appearance out of thin air jarring them apart. She pulled a chair up to their booth and rested her chin in her palm. Killian didn’t know her very well but he did know a shit eating grin when he saw one.

“Hey lovebirds,” she said, her smirk only growing at his accusing glare and Emma’s furious blush. “We’re closing up, so figure out whose place you’re going to and get outta here. You,” she said, pointing to Emma who was glaring at her now, “Call me tomorrow. And  _ you _ ,” she said, pointing at Killian, “I know every cop in town.”

Emma sighed. “You know _ one _ cop, Ruby. And it’s me.” 

Killian watched as she walked away, still in a bit of a daze, and noticed for the first time that most of the lights had gone down, the place nearly empty. He didn’t know when their friends had left - or, how they’d managed to avoid interruption or interrogation until this point, though he assumed it had something to do with keeping Will alive - but apart from Ruby and a lone busboy, they were alone.

Emma cleared her throat beside him and he turned back to her. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were swollen and Killian was struck dumb by the fact that she could look even more gorgeous and inviting than she had when he’d first seen her. He was hit with a mixture of pride at knowing he was the reason for her slightly disheveled appearance and dark, heavy-lidded expression, and the overwhelming urge to kiss her again. 

“We should go,” she said, three words that managed to excite and terrify him all at once. Leaving  _ with her _ he could deal with. There were all sorts of things he wanted to do with her that he couldn’t in a public place. But the thought of them saying goodbye now and taking the chance that she would change her mind or that her self-preservation instincts would kick in and tell her to run, the thought that he might not see her again, it terrified him. 

In his panic he reached for her, fisting his hands in the hair at the back of her neck and swallowing her surprised gasp when he slanted his mouth over hers. The kiss was firmer this time, desperate and needy, open mouths and heady groans, leaving them both panting when he broke away. 

“I don’t want you to go,” he admitted, resting his forehead against hers.

“The bar is closing,” she pointed out and he took a moment to enjoy how breathy and wrecked her voice sounded, how she sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. 

“Then come with me.”

She didn’t answer right away and Killian could feel her hesitation. He pulled back but only a little, worried he’d asked for too much too fast, let himself get carried away by whatever this was between them, but unable to let her go completely. When there was enough space between them that he could see her clearly, he saw her fixate on worrying a fingernail, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. 

“I’m sorry, Swan,” he said, feeling like a complete ass. They’d had such a lovely night, the best night he’d had in a long time and now she probably thought that all he was interested in was getting her home and getting in her pants. He winced at his own stupidity, loosening his hands from her hair and pulling back further. “I shouldn’t have -”

“No, Killian,” she stopped him, her hand coming to his thigh and stilling his retreat. “I want to. Believe me, I do,” she said and he felt a little bit of hope that he hadn’t totally fucked this up swell in his throat. “But… not tonight. Can we just...” 

He could see her searching for words, uncomfortable with her own vulnerability right now with expressing her feelings. But she was an open book and he could see it plainly on her face and in the way she held onto him but still held herself back. In the same way he’d worried about messing this up by going too fast, he could see her own worries reflected back at him. Slow. He could do slow. If it meant she would still be here tomorrow and the day after that, he could go as slow as she liked. He’d waited five years to feel this way again. What was a little longer?

He kissed her again, chaste and short. “Aye, love. I’ve got all the time in the world.” He felt the tension leave her, her shoulders dropping in a heavy exhale. 

“Thanks.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he smiled, finally sliding away and out of the booth, reaching a hand out to help her climb out after him. “But I do think we should get out of here before we give your friend any more reason to interrogate you tomorrow.” He watched her cast her eyes over to where Ruby stood at the bar, looking absolutely thrilled and throwing Emma a mischievous thumbs up. 

“Oh god,” she groaned and Killian laughed, dragging her by the hand she hadn’t let go towards their coats. 

Once they were bundled up for the weather, they stepped out into the cold night and while the icy air against his cheeks and neck should have snapped him out of his daze and focused him on reality, instead it invigorated him, filled him with an excitement and a giddiness. The snow had stopped but it was cold and it was dark, so he turned to Emma who was pulling her coat more tightly around her neck and asked to walk her home. 

“I promise, no funny business, no ulterior motives.” 

“You know I can take care of myself, right?” she said, raising a brow at him. “I could probably take you if I wanted to.”

“Feel free to take me anytime you feel the slightest bit inclined,” he smirked, unable to let such an easy opening pass. She rolled her eyes. “I know you could,” he went on. “I’m just not quite ready to say goodnight,” he told her honestly. He watched her scan his eyes and his face for any hint of a lie, to see if this was some play to just get her to take him home, but he wasn’t worried, she wouldn’t find it. 

“Alright,” she said finally before leading them south down the main road. “I’m down this way.” Killian did his best to hide his excitement and the grin that wouldn’t leave his face no matter what he did, but he failed utterly and completely when he felt her slip her hand into his as they walked along the snowy street.

He had to admit he was disappointed at how close her building was to the bar. They walked the ten minutes in comfortable silence, something he hadn’t shared with anyone in far too long. There was a lightness in his chest, a sense of comfort born from the glow of the streetlights that engulfed him and the woman who had caught his arm in both of hers, pressing herself closer against the cold. He was more than happy to oblige, barely able to feel the chill at all despite the snow crunching under their feet. 

“This is me,” she said finally when they reached their destination. He wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the slight tone of disappointment in her voice or simply hoped it was there. But as she pulled away from him, she let her hand slide down his arm until he caught it in his own, so he hoped that maybe she wasn’t looking forward to saying goodnight any more than he was. 

“When can I see you again?” he asked, beyond caring about sounding desperate. He  _ was _ desperate. Sod games and pretending, he was in this for the long haul and he wouldn’t win her heart with trickery. 

“How do you feel about breakfast?” she asked and he smirked, laughing when he watched the realisation dawn on her face. “Oh, crap. I didn’t mean it like that,” she sighed, covering her face with her free hand. He reached up to draw it away, holding alongside the other between them. 

“I love breakfast,” he told her. “A huge fan.” She rolled her eyes at him. “No, really, I’ve always stood as an avid supporter of breakfast.” Her smile betrayed her bemusement this time. “What did you have in mind if this wasn’t some ploy to get me up to your apartment?” She narrowed her eyes at him and he did his best to hide how much he was enjoying getting a rise out of her.

“There’s a spot near campus that I like,” she told him. 

“I live right near campus,” he said brightly. “Right off the corner of Main and University.”

“No way,” she said. “You live in Robin’s building!” 

“Robin? Sounds like me, slightly less handsome, lovely wife?”

“Yeah!” 

“He lives across the hall from me,” he said in disbelief. “A friend of yours, I take it.” 

“Yeah, and of Will’s. I’m sure he’ll come out with us eventually.” Killian tried not to show his excitement at her casual mention of them spending more time together, that she assumed he’d be joining her and her friends from now on. 

“Why don’t I swing by your place and then we can walk over? I think you’ll like it. Ruby’s Grandma owns it. They do really great bear claws.” 

“What’s a bear claw?” 

“ _ What’s a bear claw?” _ she repeated in disbelief. “Okay, so clearly I'll be making all future decisions about where we go out because you obviously can’t be trusted.” 

“All future decisions?” he asked, raising a brow at her. “Will we be going out a lot then?” She groaned. “How many places are you planning to take me, Swan? You should know that if you expect me to put out, I expect to be properly wined and dined first.” 

“Shut up,” she said, shaking her head and he smiled. 

“Make me.” He watched her eye him, saw her weigh the challenge he put down and waited for her to decide. 

For all the time Killian had spent kissing her tonight, nothing had quite prepared him for the overwhelming experience of  _ being  _ kissed by Emma Swan. Before he knew what was happening she’d grabbed hold of the lapels of his jacket and yanked him against her, pressing her lips to his with a fervor that sent his head spinning. It was all he could do to regain control of his arms, which had frozen in shock as he let out a surprised groan, and find purchase on her hips, pulling her closer, as though there were any space left between them to begin with. 

Her hand slid up his neck to clutch at the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging as she pressed herself against him and he let out a heady groan which she swallowed. Pulling her along by her belt loops he backed them up until his back hit the wall at the side of her building and he was grateful for the support as her tongue dove into his mouth and made his legs unsteady beneath him. 

Her hips rolled against his as she bit and licked and pulled at his lips and his hand found her ass, sliding a knee between hers and causing her to let out the most magnificent sound he’d ever heard. She pulled away quickly, the gasping moan still on her lips, and he tried to chase her, needing more, desperate for just one more kiss, but she held him back, tightening her fist in his hair. It was his turn to gasp.

She kept her eyes closed, her nose brushing his cheek and her panting breath puffing clouds of mist in the space between them. It took him longer than he’d have liked to calm his own breath and heart, both still a little ragged when she finally released him and stepped back. He missed her immediately, the cold air against his front a sharp contrast to her warmth. When he looked at her, sure that his eyes were dazed and glassy, he found her smirking at him, though her eyes weren’t totally clear either. 

“Goodnight, Killian,” she said before turning and heading in, leaving him winded and utterly wrecked, leaning against the wall outside. 

“Goodnight,” he said finally into the empty street. Bloody hell, he’d really gotten himself in deep this time, hadn’t he?

***

Killian walked home in a daze, barely noticing the strange looks he was getting from the few other strangers out on the street at two in the morning. He couldn’t blame them; if he’d seen some guy walking down the street with a stupid, disbelieving smile on his face he’d probably look at him weird too. He brought his fingers to his lips. He could still feel her. His whole body felt like it was on fire, the moment playing itself over and over in his head. Of all the things he’d expected from a night out with Will, Emma Swan had not been one of them. And to think he’d nearly cancelled. 

He wondered if he should call her. It was his first thought when he walked through the door of his apartment.  _ Damn it. He didn’t have her number _ , he realised suddenly. How had he managed to go all night without getting her number? He could text Will, he supposed, and get it from him. But Will was likely passed out by now - if he was still alive - and he wouldn’t want to subject Emma to whatever overprotective brother lecture she would surely get from Will if he knew Killian wanted to call her in the middle of the night. No, best to just wait until tomorrow. She said she’d come. Morning was only a few hours away. He could wait - he couldn’t really, but he would. 

“It’s about time you get home!” a voice called from the couch and he jumped in surprise. He lived alone. “What, has Boston turned you into some kind of party animal? You going to start spiking your hair and wearing candy necklaces?”

“Tink?” he said in surprise, blinking a few times to make sure it was really her. 

His shock turned into a laugh as his old friend pitched herself into his arms. “You could at least pretend you’re happy to see me,” she sassed. 

“I am! I am. I’m just surprised is all. What are you doing here?” 

“I’m visiting my dad for Christmas,” she shrugged. 

“How did you get in?” he asked.

“You have a very trusting landlady,” she smiled. 

“Wonderful,” he rolled his eyes and she laughed. 

Killian had met Tink - whose real name she would murder you if you revealed - during his second year in America. She was a friend of a friend and that friend had been sick and tired of seeing Killian alone and heartbroken and had set them up on a date. It hadn’t been bad. They’d gotten along just fine, but neither of them had been in a place for love, both still too broken by their last attempt at it. 

So they’d become friends - great friends, actually. But the truth of the reason they were set up in the first place hadn’t gone away. They were both, incredibly, painfully lonely and not up to the task of putting in the work to find someone to fill the void. And so, so naturally that Killian couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment it happened, they’d added benefits to their friendship. It had been the perfect arrangement and had served them both well for years. Even when Tink moved away for graduate school, she still visited whenever she was in the city - not just for sex, though it was certainly an added bonus, or at least it had been. 

He cared about her, loved her as a friend, and appreciated that things between them were so easy, that they could help each other fill a need without risking endangering their hearts.

“Anyway,” she said, reaching out and fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. She raised a brow at him as she tugged it down. “I thought we could hang out, have some fun.” She pushed the coat from his shoulders and it hit the floor with a thud. His hands came up and caught hold of her arms. 

“I-” 

“What?” she asked, leaning in to press a kiss to his neck, her fingers already finding the buttons of his shirt. It would be so easy to fall back into comfortable habits. Tink was safe, he trusted her,  _ he  _ was safe. But Emma - Emma was terrifying and exhilarating and while he’d just met her, he knew that he had to try. He had to risk heartbreak for the first time in years if he wanted a chance at the only kind of love that could cause it. 

“Tink, wait. I can’t do this,” he said and she paused in reaching for his belt. She looked at him in slight surprise; he’d never rebuffed her before, and then glanced down. 

“ _ Oh _ ,” she said in realisation. “Did you have too much to drink?”

“No, it’s not that, it’s -” He stepped back, aware that he was standing in front of her with his shirt open but it didn’t matter, she’d seen him in all states of undress. There was no point in getting shy now. “It’s -” He searched for words, running a hand down his face in desperation. 

He didn’t want to hurt her. He knew she didn’t care for him in any way that even touched on romantic, he couldn’t break her heart. But they’d started this because they’d both been hurt by love, had been living in fear of it, and to turn her away because he’d gone back on their unspoken promise - it felt like he was abandoning her. 

She stared at him in confusion and then suddenly her eyes widened then and a smile spread over her face. She covered it with both hands.

“Oh my god, who is she?” she demanded. then peeked over his shoulder. “Is she here? Do you want me to go hide? I can step out for a bit and give you some privacy. What do you need? Twenty, thirty minutes?” 

“Tink, come on.”

“ _ Fourty _ ?” she demanded incredulously. “Okay but it’s cold out there, so could you hurry it up?”

“There’s no girl,” he insisted but he could hear the lie plain as day in his own voice. He knew she wouldn’t buy it. 

“Bullshit.”

He sighed. “Okay. There’s no girl out in the hall.” 

Her smile grew even wider. “But there is a girl, isn't there?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “There might be. I don’t know.” 

“Who is she?” she asked again and Killian let his hand drop, knowing this wasn’t a battle he was going to win. 

“She’s… she’s a friend’s sister. I only just met her tonight but she’s… I don’t know.” His finger came up to scratch a spot behind his ear of its own volition and Tink’s smile, which had been teasing, softened. 

“Oh.” 

“What?”

“So this is like… real then,” she said and Killian sighed again. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It  _ means _ , you like her.” He looked away. “Oh, wow. You  _ really _ like her.” 

“Can we not?” he asked, the lateness of the hour finally starting to hit him. 

“Okay,” she said to his utter surprise. “Keep your secrets for now. But, Killian,” she caught his arm and forced him to meet her eyes. “I’m really happy for you. This is a good thing.”

He sighed in relief and the corner of his mouth turned up. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” 

“I should go,” she said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “It’s nearly three in the morning. I’m not sending you off by yourself in the middle of the night. You can stay here. You’re always welcome to stay here, Tink, no matter what we are or aren’t doing. You know that.” 

She smiled. “Okay. But I did come here looking for some fun, so how about you let me kick your ass at Mario Kart?”

He scoffed. “In your dreams,” he taunted before heading over to grab the controllers. 

_ Present Day _

Killian turned, still in the spot where she’d left him and let his back fall against the wall. The wall that, not two minutes ago, he’d had Emma pressed up against. Right before she ran away from him. Again. The similarities of this moment and of that night so many years ago were not lost on him. And now, to finally know what had happened, to know  _ why _ she’d disappeared… 

He’d gone to bed that night thinking of her and he’d woken up thinking of her, thinking that he might finally be able to move on and find happiness again with someone. But while he waited for her the next morning, she never showed up. Or, it would seem, she had. And Tink had answered the door. 

He’d finally caved and gotten her number from Will, but his texts and calls had gone unanswered for weeks. And, when he finally saw her again at another get together that Will invited him to, she’d been so cold and standoffish. Gone was the warmth and the ease and the vulnerability from the other night. She’d barely acknowledged him, apart from the few times where she’d rolled her eyes at some comment or joke he’d made. 

It had hurt to see how different it was now, no longer playful but genuinely annoyed and bothered by him. He’d wracked his brain for days wondering if he’d misread everything but he knew he hadn’t. Whatever had transpired between them that night had been real. And she wouldn’t acknowledge him long enough for him to find out what had changed. 

She wouldn’t acknowledge him at all in fact - unless it was to express her annoyance with him. So for those first few meetings afterwards, that’s what he did. He annoyed her. Like a little boy on the playground teasing girls to get a reaction. But it worked. So he kept doing it. As the months went on, it turned into genuine animosity, his pride and his heart hurt by her coldness. But a small part of him still reveled in every reaction he got from her. 

Then, as the years went on and his pain and his anger faded, it became a game, one he looked forward to if he was honest with himself. Even  _ if _ those feelings had faded. He’d learned his lesson. He’d jumped in with both feet and he’d drowned. 

So he’d given up on trying. One night was only enough to break your heart if it held the promise of a next morning. He’d meant what he said. He didn’t play games. But he also never led any woman to believe that their dalliance was anything more than that. 

But now.  _ Five years. _ All because of a misunderstanding. Because Tink had answered the door instead of him. 

He felt the anger burning in his chest. Anger at Emma for that night, for not trusting him and for assuming the worst. Anger at himself for not trying harder to figure out what had happened. Anger at the fact that she’d done it again.  _ She’d _ kissed  _ him _ . And then she’d taken it back, run away, pretended it hadn’t happened. 

It coursed through his whole body now. Clearly it was for the best that she’d left him back then, that it hadn’t progressed beyond that night. He’d been wrong. Emma wasn’t the kind of woman he could trust with his heart. 

And yet… 

He needed a drink. 

***

_ Shit. Shit, shit, shit.  _ Why had she done that? What the hell had possessed her to kiss Killian Jones? What the hell was she supposed to do now? Trust him to keep his mouth shut? As if. But then again, he’d never told anyone about their first night together, the first night they kissed.  _ It should have been the last time, you idiot _ . She berated herself. 

It was the rum. And the whiskey. And whatever else Will and Ruby had mixed into her drinks tonight. That had to be it. But then why couldn’t she stop thinking about it? About his arms around her and his hands in her hair, about how soft his lips were and the feel of his stubble scratching at her cheeks and her chin. Memories from five years ago overlapped with tonight and suddenly she was burning up. 

She needed a drink. No. Drinks were how she got into this situation in the first place. She needed to drop some damn ice down the back of her dress and get her mind out of that place that kept replaying the sounds he’d made over and over again. 

“You look like you could use this,” someone said and she turned to the handsome, smirking man who was handing her a glass. 

“Graham,” she greeted with a relieved sigh. “I didn’t know you were here.” 

“Yeah, I tried to get here before midnight and the big reveal but we had a break in the case.” 

“Burning the midnight oil, then?” she joked and he smiled. Graham was her closest friend at the Boston PD. They’d come up as rookies together and had made detective just a few years apart. While he wasn’t much of a people person, or one for parties, he got along well with David and Mary Margaret, so he made a point to try to be there for the most important events like their wedding, and apparently their Stag and Doe. 

“You know how it is,” he shrugged. She did. Her partner, August, had practically had to push her out the door and into the car with a promise of calling if anything new came up in their current cases. 

“Well, I’m glad you made it,” she said. It was nice to have someone else to talk to right now, a welcome distraction. 

“Yeah?” he asked with a shy smile.

“Of course.” She eyed his costume up and down. “What are you supposed to be?” 

“I think it’s a werewolf?” he frowned, looking himself over. “I don’t really know. I grabbed the first thing I could find on my way up. It could be a Viking.” 

Emma reached out and tugged at the fur vest he was wearing. “It looks good.” 

“You think?” He was smiling at her again. “ _ You _ look lovely,” he said, looking at her with a slightly awed expression. “What are you dressed as?”

Emma snorted, looking down at her dress. “Elsa, I think.” 

Graham laughed. “It suits you.” 

“No it doesn’t. They just wouldn’t let me wear jeans.”

“Disgraceful,” he said with a smirk and she returned it, raising her drink in a toast. As he clinked his glass against hers, the music quieted and David and Mary Margaret took their place at the top of the grand staircase to thank everyone for coming out and to thank the bridal party for all their hard work. They gave a little speech about true love and how they would always find one another. 

It was cheesy but Emma caught herself smiling anyway. Everything had worked out. Snow White had found her…. Beast? She’d have to ask David about that one later. They looked happy. They were in love. And she was happy for them. She could see Graham watching her out of the corner of her eye and she turned to him, dumb smile still on her face.

“It’s sort of nice, isn’t it?” Graham said, gesturing at the happy couple. “True Love and all. They really found it didn’t they?”

“I think so,” she said. “They’re one of the lucky ones.” 

“And what about you?” he asked, tilting his head. “Any chance on the horizon?”

She scoffed. “Nah, not for me. It takes a special kind to love and be loved back. I’m not easily loved,” she confessed, cursing herself and how many drinks she’d had. “Way too prickly,” she added quickly, trying to recover and to snuff down the knot that had formed in her throat.

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “I've always been a fan of cactuses. They're worth getting jabbed a few times.” He smirked and Emma laughed. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm, squeezing it quickly.

“Thanks, Graham.” Before she could pull her hand back though, he caught it with his own, bringing their entwined hands to his chest and holding them there. Emma’s heart began pounding. 

“I think you’re plenty easy to love, Emma,” he said. 

Emma stood staring at him, caught like a deer in the headlights. Where had this come from?  _ Graham? Graham liked her? Was maybe in love with her? _ How had she not seen it before? When she didn’t pull away, he gained confidence, stepping towards her, closing the distance between them. His other hand came up to cup her face and she froze. 

He was going to kiss her. She knew he was. And maybe she should let him. Graham was a good man. He was kind and thoughtful and sweet, and it didn’t hurt that he was beautiful. He was exactly the kind of man that she should want to be with. They’d been friends for years. She trusted him with her life - had literally had to on several occasions. Maybe she could try. Maybe there was a happily ever after for her if she was open to it. 

But the moment his lips brushed against hers she knew it was wrong. She tried not to. She tried to push it down, to ignore the fact that it felt like she was kissing the wrong lips, like she was feeling the wrong scruff against her chin, like it was the wrong hand pulling her closer. Because that would mean that there were right lips, and a right scruff, and a right hand… that there was a right man. She hated the images that came to mind, the comparisons she was making. 

“Graham,” she said, pulling away, placing a hand on his chest to stop him following her. When she finally managed to meet his gaze she could see the acceptance in his eyes and she knew he already understood. “I’m so sorry.” It was all she could think to say. She wished it could be him. Everything would be so much simpler if she could love him. But it wasn’t, and she couldn’t. 

“It’s alright,” he said, shrugging though she could see the hurt plainly on his face. “It’s weddings you know, they get all sorts of mad ideas tangled up in your head.”

“You deserve better, Graham.” 

“Ah, don’t say that,” he said, pulling away. 

“You do. You deserve someone who will love you completely and totally and the way you deserve to because you’re amazing. It’s just -”

“It’s not you,” he finished for her and she nodded weakly. He nodded back. “So then what about you, Emma?”

“Me?”

“Who are you going to let love you totally and completely? And who are you going to let yourself love back?” 

“I -” Images of a small booth and a charming smile came to her then. Of stolen kisses and smirks and knowing looks. “I don’t know.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you sure about that?” She inhaled sharply and let out a shaky breath. 

“I don’t know.” 

There was a long, heavy silence and Graham took a sip of his drink. Emma mimicked him, just for something to do. After a moment, he let out a sigh. 

“Is it Killian?” he asked, and he may as well have hit her upside the head.

“ _ What _ ?” she practically shouted. “Killian? Why would it - why would you - why would you even think that?” Why the hell would he think she was at all interested in Killian Jones? She hated the man. 

Graham gave her a careful, placating look as she crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling defensive. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Wondered about what?” Emma demanded. “I can’t stand Killian. He’s the most self-involved, cocky, rude -”

“Emma.”

Her words caught in her throat. Again, her mind reeled with the jumble of thoughts and feelings and emotions that always came up when she thought of Killian. That night, that first night, she’d thought maybe - there had been a chance. He’d been so different, so kind and supportive and sincere. She’d been so thrown when that woman had answered his door. 

_ You should ask him about it _ , Killian’s own voice echoed in her ears and so did the sadness and the hurt that had resonated in them. Had there been an explanation? She never gave him the chance to answer. But he’d never lied to her, not once in the five years she’d known him. She should have asked. But, did it even matter if there was an explanation? Was one bad decision and her wounded pride reason enough to hate him forever? Enough to negate everything else she felt when he -

She looked to Graham then. She didn’t know what she was feeling. She was hurt and confused and ashamed and  _ terrified _ . Graham sighed and pursed his lips.

“Yeah, I thought so.” 

***

Mary Margaret was the first one down in the morning, as she always was, never one to sleep much past sunrise. She set about starting breakfast, knowing that her friends would be in dire need of coffee and greasy food if they were going to make it through the rest of the day. She was humming her wedding song, waiting for a pancake to bubble when a pair of strong, flannel clad arms wrapped around her waist. 

“Did you remember to add the nutmeg?” her fiance asked and she rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, I remembered the nutmeg,” she said and he smiled before placing a kiss to her cheek and releasing her so that he could come around and get started on making his famously strong coffee. 

“Good, because you know that makes all the difference.” 

“Of course it does, sweetheart,” she said placatingly and David bumped her hip with his. She bit back her giggle. 

“Oh, god,” Ruby groaned, plopping herself down on the island and holding her head in her hands. “How are you both so chipper so early? It’s nauseating.” 

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Ruby,” Mary Margaret warned, pointing at her with the spatula. “Where’s Mulan?” 

“Possibly dead. I couldn’t get her to move this morning let alone get out of bed. I’m sure she’ll be here once the smell of bacon reaches our room.” 

“Oh my god is that coffee?” Elsa asked desperately as she came into the room ten minutes later, followed closely by Belle and Will. David handed her a cup, and then handed one to an exhausted looking Robin. 

“What’s the matter, old man? Can’t keep up anymore?” 

Robin glared. “I’m only four years older than you. I’ll be fine by tonight.” 

“Last night was fun,” Belle said, far more awake and aware than most of the gang. 

“It was,” Mary Margaret gushed. “Thank you all so much. It was really wonderful.” She flipped another pancake. “Has anyone seen Liam this morning? I hope he had a good time. I was so worried he’d feel like the odd man out. Elsa?” she asked, and the blonde’s eyes went wide. 

“Why are you asking me?” she demanded and Mary Margaret blushed bright red. 

“No reason!” she lied badly, clearly panicked. 

Belle turned on Elsa then with a mischievous smile. “Why would she be asking you about Liam, Elsa?”

“I don’t know!” 

“Probably because the two of them were sucking face last night.”

“ _ Will _ !” Mary Margaret scolded as Belle smacked his arm. 

“You were  _ what? _ ” Ruby demanded. 

“Why is everyone shouting?” Mulan asked, rubbing her eyes as she walked into the kitchen. 

“Because apparently Elsa was putting the moves on Killian’s brother last night,” David filled her in.

“I wasn’t - I mean.” Her whole face turned red. 

“Come on,” Will egged her on. “I saw you. He had that costume from that stupid movie you girls all like so much-”

“The Princess Bride,” Robin filled in.

“Yeah. And you had that blue dress you wore to the New Year’s party.” Elsa turned wide, shocked eyes on him. “What?  _ I remember stuff _ !” 

“...That wasn’t me,” she said. 

“Oh, don’t deny it,” Ruby chimed in, grinning like an idiot. “He’s cute!”

“Hey!” Mulan interjected and Ruby wrapped an arm around her waist. 

“No, I mean - Okay, yes, I kissed Liam last night," Elsa conceded.

“ _ You did _ ?” Mary Margaret exclaimed happily. “Oh, that’s so exciting!”

“Yeah, okay but, I wasn’t wearing that dress. I gave it to Emma.”

“ _ Emma kissed Liam _ ?” David demanded, frowning. 

“Emma did what now?” Liam asked, walking in. He stopped dead when every set of eyes turned on him. 

“Liam, were you dressed as Westley last night?” 

“Um, no,” he said, looking around nervously. “The costume didn’t fit so I had to make a last minute change.” 

“So you didn’t kiss Emma,” Robin clarified. 

Liam looked awkwardly at Elsa and cleared his throat. “No. Definitely not.” 

“So then who the hell was dressed as Westley last night?” Will asked the group. 

“Oh,” Liam said. “Killian was. We switched costumes when -” 

A silence had fallen over the kitchen, everyone staring at each other in complete and utter shock. Finally, after a long,  _ long _ moment, Robin spoke. 

“Killian?” he asked. “You’re sure it was Killian?” 

“Yes. I made him give me that bloody heavy pirate coat of his.” Elsa shot him a shy, knowing smile and he blushed. 

“Bloody hell,” Will said, voicing the thoughts of everyone in the room. 

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Oh, David, really.” 

“Am I missing something?” Liam asked. 

“It  _ seems _ ,” Belle started. “That Emma and your brother shared an…  _ amorous moment _ last night.” 

“That’s one way to say she stuck her tongue down his throat.”

“ _ Ruby _ , could you not?” David begged, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Emma and Killian." Elsa shook her head in disbelief. 

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Mary Margaret argued. “They hate each other.” 

“You can’t all be that surprised, surely,” Liam interjected.

"Why not?” Robin asked. “They’ve been at each other’s throats since they met.” 

“Yes, I’m aware of that. But I was always under the impression that it was some kind of game between them,” he said, frowning when he was met with empty looks. “Killian’s been in love with Emma since he first met her.” 

“ _ What _ ?” - “ _ He’s been what _ ?” -“ _ Bloody hell are you messing with me _ ?”

“ _ No way _ !” -“ _ You’re fucking with us right _ ?”

Liam flinched as he was bombarded with questions. “I - I thought everyone knew.” 

After a long, stunned silence, Ruby spoke. "This isn't the first time."

“What?!” everyone shouted at once. 

She bit her lip, torn about revealing a secret she’d kept for so many years. She’d done it for Emma’s sake. She’d assumed something had gone wrong, that Killian had screwed up or Emma had gotten scared and she didn’t want to push her friend or cause a rift between their group and Killian, who was quickly becoming an integral part of their close-knit circle. 

She sighed. “The night we met Killian, you remember, Will’s birthday.” 

“I do not,” Will answered. 

“Yeah, well, everyone who was conscious past nine-thirty does.” Will let out a disgruntled noise. “After you all left, when I was closing up the bar, I found Emma and Killian rounding second base in a booth in the corner.” Will and David made matching sounds of disgust and protest. 

“How did none of us notice this?” David asked, looking distressed. Mary Margaret cleared her throat awkwardly and his eyes rounded on her. 

“I might have made sure you were occupied with Will and suggested we get him home…” 

“You knew?” he demanded. 

“You know how you get. I figured I’d give them some time to actually start something before the whole family was involved. And then nothing happened and you liked Killian so there didn’t seem to be a point in telling you.”

“So Killian’s been in love with Emma for five years?” Belle clarified. 

Liam nodded. “He may not admit it, but while my brother is many things,  _ subtle _ he is not.”

“Do you think she…?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe. She’s always so defensive when we bring him up.”

“Killian and Emma? That’s crazy,” Will said, shaking his head. 

“Is it though?” Ruby contradicted. “Think about it. All they talk about is each other.”

“How much they annoy each other,” Robin pointed out. 

“Even then. You don’t go on like that about someone you hate. And have you  _ seen _ them when they get involved in one of their little sparring matches? It’s like watching foreplay.”

“Ruby.” David again, defeated this time.

“I’m just saying, you don’t need to stand that close to someone to tell them you have a problem with their face. And it’s all smirks and eyebrow raises and - come on. I can’t be the only one who's noticed it.” 

“No, I’ve wondered sometimes,” Robin admitted and David nodded to everyone’s surprise. 

“They’re just so damn similar,” he said. “It’s why Killian and I get along so well.”

“Aye,” Liam agreed. “I thought that too when I first met Emma.”

“Yeah,” David continued. “He reminds me of her. They both had it rough when they were young. They’re both headstrong and loyal and kind and guarded. And they’re both so damn afraid of love I don’t think they’d recognize it if it was shouted from the rooftops at them.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and a sad sort of atmosphere surrounded them. It broke all their hearts a little to know that their best friends could be so hurt by and so scared of being in love that they may not ever be open to it again. 

“What if we helped them?” Belle suggested.

“What? You mean set them up?” Elsa asked.

“They’d never go for it,” Mulan shook her head.

“They might… if they didn’t know we were doing it,” Ruby said cautiously. 

“You want to trick them into falling in love?” Will asked in disbelief. 

“No. I want to trick them into realising they’re  _ already _ in love.” 

“It could work,” Robin said finally, breaking the long, contemplative silence that had fallen over the room. 

“Liam?” Mary Margaret asked. “If we want this to work we’ll need you. If Emma will believe anyone telling her Killian loves her, it’s you.”

Liam thought and then smiled slowly. He nodded. He knew how his brother felt. He was fairly certain Emma felt the same. Enough was enough. They couldn’t go on pretending anymore. It was time the lost boy and girl grew up. 

“I’m in.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you a million times over @ultraluckycatnd for all your amazing help as a beta and for not complaining about me sending you paragraphs worth of stream of consciousness ideas.

Killian woke up with his head pounding, a combination of alcohol and a fitful night’s sleep. He’d been angry and hurt when he went to bed and he still was now in the morning. His night had been filled with vivid reenactments of the party - Emma teasing him, Emma kissing him, Emma rejecting him. Even now, just thinking about her last words felt like something was seizing his heart.  _ Twice.  _ Twice she’d done this. That was the other thing he couldn’t stop thinking about. 

He had half a mind to bang on her door right now and confront her, tell her off for her games and her goddamn inability to decide if she wanted him or hated him. Maybe it was both. But what could he say? He had no leg to stand on. What could he accuse her of? Hurting his feelings? It wasn’t as though he’d never been guilty of that in their ongoing game of one upmanship. Of not liking him back? He was done trying to convince himself he didn’t like her. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Liam was right. There was something about Emma Swan that drew him to her like he’d never been drawn to another woman. But just because he’d had this epiphany didn’t mean that she owed him, that he was entitled to having his feelings returned. 

For leading him on? She may have kissed him, but she’d also literally threatened to kill him if he told anyone about it. She also owned a gun so Killian wasn’t totally unconvinced that she wouldn’t go through with it. 

Fuck. He liked her. He didn’t know when he started lying to himself exactly, convincing himself that the feelings she stirred in him were distaste and animosity. But it had been easier to convince himself that it was. Because that way he didn’t have to face what he was facing now. The fact that for the last five years he’s been pining for his friend’s sister - his friend’s sister who can’t stand the sight of him. 

And what was worse was the knowledge that he was probably going to have to spend the rest of his life - because David and Mary Margaret would be around bringing them together again and again until death do they part - living with the fact that he was in love with her and that his feelings would never be returned. The feelings he thought he’d gotten over had never gone away. No, instead they’d been festering, waiting for him to stop being an idiot and face them.

Twice now there had been the possibility. Of what he wasn’t even sure. For her to return his feelings. For her to give them a chance. For her not to shut him out. And twice she’d turned him down, rejected and obliterated the small inklings of hope that had started to flicker in him. 

He sighed, bringing the heels of his palms to his eyes and pressing, trying to distract from the pain in his chest and in his gut because he knew what he had to do. He needed to move on, for real this time, or find a way to live with this unrequited love and the endless, daily rejection that would come with it. Otherwise, it would destroy him. 

He debated staying in bed all day, hiding beneath the covers and wallowing in his new found affections that had been crushed before they’d even been voiced. But he could hear the others already downstairs. Could hear the muffled chatter and excitement of the day, and he could smell the breakfast cooking and it made his stomach roll with hunger, desperate for a giant greasy breakfast to fill some of the emptiness in his gut. 

The excitement downstairs sounded like more than he could handle though. Too cheerful and even giggly, and it felt like a lead weight. He couldn’t face them yet, not when he was still wallowing. He wasn’t ready to put on the smile they were all so used to, to be upbeat and friendly and pretend he wasn’t falling apart on the inside. But he couldn’t stall his descent for long. 

He stood, deciding that he’d take a shower to avoid going down just a little longer. Maybe the water would help wake him up, help him think straight and push her out of his mind. He just needed a little time to fall back into the act. This weekend wasn’t about him and his broken heart. He wouldn’t ruin his friends’ wedding by being a sad sack. And besides, he could still smell her on his skin. 

***

Emma lay staring at the ceiling of her room. She  _ had _ been staring at it for the last hour. She knew every groove and shadow and shade, could tell which pieces had been repaired or patched or painted over. And yet she still couldn’t sleep. She was even avoiding closing her eyes at this point because she knew the face that would be waiting for her behind them, knew which moments would replay and which feelings they would stir because they’d been there all night. 

She’d tossed and turned, trying to will them away, squeezing her lids shut in the hopes that if she tried hard enough to ignore them, they’d go away. But no. The more she tried to ignore them, the more she tried to ignore  _ him, _ the more vivid the images of the night before would become. 

She thought about what Graham had said, what he’d suggested and the way it had settled in her chest and nested there, refusing to go away.  _ Is it Killian _ ? Was  _ what _ Killian? She knew what her partner had been implying, that she was in love with him. But she wasn’t. She hated him. She’d always hated him. Something seized in her chest.  _ No you haven’t _ . 

And then the more troubling of the memories came, the ones of Killian’s mouth against her, of his body pressing her into the wall or into that booth in the bar. Her whole body tingled at the sensations, as though it were happening right there and then. She could still feel the warmth of his lips and the roughness of his stubble against her chin, could still feel the heat of him against her chest and where his arms had held her face and her back. 

She let out a groan, pulling her pillow over her face and trying to smother the feelings he stirred in her, even as she rubbed her legs together to try to quell the part of her that demanded she go across the hall and have him finish what he’d started. She forced herself to think about Graham’s words again. Better to be annoyed and pissed off than to be laying there wanting _ Killian Jones _ . How the hell had this happened? She knew how it had happened. It was the way that damn man kissed. It should have been illegal. 

She groaned again, looking out her window where the light was streaming in now. She was so tired. She was tired and confused and anxious and she was running out of time to keep hiding in her bed not sleeping. Sooner or later, people would come looking for her, would come demanding answers about why she was cowering under the covers licking her wounds and then they would know. Even if she didn’t even know what was happening. 

She thought of the way his hips had pressed her into the wall and she wanted to whine. Fuck her life. She didn’t know how she’d go on pretending like everything was normal for the next three days.  _ Three goddamn days _ of being practically glued to his side because of their maid of honour and best man duties and trying to stop herself from jumping his bones at any chance she got. Because that was where she was at now, picturing all the dark corners and hidden alcoves in this enormous house that she could drag him into and have her way with him. 

_ Stop it _ , she tried to tell herself. Okay. So she wanted him. She was attracted to him. She could admit that. He was hot, there was no denying it, and they’d been tiptoeing around each other for years with all the innuendos and the thinly veiled flirtations. And clearly her body had more control than her brain when it came to the stupid decision making. Fine. She could handle lusting after Killian. She’d lusted after worse people. And if that was all it was then she could get through the next few days. Maybe she just needed to get him out of her system. That thought only served to bring back the images of hidden hallways and the absurd amount of rooms in the house. But that was okay, because it was just desire, just physical. 

She’d almost convinced herself when the other memory came to her, the one that she’d really been avoiding, that she’d been hiding from by focusing on her annoyance at Graham and her confusion about the kiss.  _ Fair enough _ . Those were the last words he’d said to her last night.  _ Fair enough _ . It didn’t mean anything and it shouldn’t have been bothering her this much but he’d sounded so crushed and so…. disheartened. And she could still hear it, echoing through her head and her chest like she could feel what he’d felt. And she felt guilty. 

She didn’t know why. She felt guilty about last night and now, for the first time in five years, she felt guilty about that first night - or the week following it. All this time she’d been sure he was the villain. But after what he’d said... He’d practically begged her to ask him what had really happened five years ago. And then the way he’d reacted when she shut him down last night…. Had she been the bad guy after all? Had she been in the wrong all this time? Had she broken his heart in an attempt to patch her own up? 

She needed to get up. She needed to get up and shower and wash all the thoughts of sympathy for Killian and wanting for Killian out of her head. She needed to make it through this weekend and then they could go back to how things were before. She could hear the lie in her own thoughts. Nothing could go back to how it was after last night. It could only be worse. She felt her chest tighten at the thought. 

_ Get up _ , she told herself, forcing her legs over the edge of the bed and dragging herself out of it.  _ Time to stop wallowing. You can wallow over your stupid feelings after the wedding. And then you can do everything in your power to avoid Killian Jones for the rest of your life. _ Her gut lurched at the idea. She didn’t know what sounded worse, seeing him every day for the next three days, or never seeing him again. 

The bathroom was just next door and she could hear everyone downstairs already, so she grabbed her towel and headed out, not bothering to change out of the t-shirt she slept in. One of David’s from high school that she’d stolen that fell just a little too shy of her thighs. But it was worn and comfortable and she didn’t want to change out of the one comfortable thing about this whole morning that she had left. 

She regretted it the moment she opened the door and found herself face to face with a sleep rumpled and equally stunned Killian.  _ Fuck _ . He was staring at her, his face unreadable for all the emotions playing across it, none staying long enough to stick. He was still wearing his pyjama pants, a towel thrown over shoulder, leaving what looked like miles of bare skin and dark hair on display. 

When she looked back up at his face he was staring at her with an intensity that made her skin flush. His jaw clenched and she saw his Adam's apple bob slowly as he took in her bare legs, Emma suddenly all too aware of how short her shirt was. 

Neither of them said a word. The silence stretching on for so long she grew uncomfortable with all the things that began filling it, everything that  _ had _ been said between them and everything that was left to say. She couldn’t find any words now. He tore his gaze up to her face and she felt like she was being studied, like he was looking for something, maybe expecting to find something or worse, expecting to find nothing at all.

Why was everything so different? Normally when she saw him she could feel quips and insults on the edge of her tongue, waiting to be thrown at him, to tear him down or to get into a battle of wits with him but now, she had nothing. And he wasn’t saying anything, no innuendo or joke or barb, no eloquent turn of phrase. Why had she gone and fucked everything up between them. 

“You go ahead,” he said finally, breaking the silence that had stretched on too long between them. “I’ll use the one down the hall.” And then he turned and walked away without another word. That was it. No ‘love’ or ‘Swan’, no joke about how she could use a shower, no innuendo about the fact that she’d been standing in front of him half naked. Just a cold, politeness that felt like a punch to the gut. She’d ruined it. 

***

When Emma got downstairs, Killian was already there in the kitchen and to her surprise, so was Graham. She’d have expected him to go home after the awkwardness of last night, but she supposed they were pretty far out from the city and there weren’t any hotels nearby. It wouldn’t have made sense for him to leave in the early morning hours. 

She offered him a tentative smile and he returned it softly, his expression a little bruised but the kindness there let her know that they would be okay, that they would get past this. Killian though, Killian was another story. He hadn’t even acknowledged her when she’d come downstairs, he’d barely even looked at her, had actively avoided looking at her really. 

“Come on Graham,” David was saying. “It’ll be fun. Emma mentioned you’re a real outdoorsy guy.” 

“I am,” Graham said, holding up a hand and shaking his head when David moved to speak, clearly trying to convince him to come along on the camping trip with them. “But I really need to get home. I’ve got twice the work now that my partner abandoned me to party all weekend,” he said, shooting her a wink and she laughed. Yeah, they would be okay. 

“What, Dave, are we not enough for you anymore? It’s the accent isn’t it? We always lose out to the Irish accent,” Killian teased but it didn’t sound right. There wasn’t his usual mirth or mischievousness behind the words. It was like he was speaking from a script, his smile there but not reaching his eyes, the edges not crinkling in the way she’d always found so charming. 

“I think three Englishmen is more than enough for one wedding party. You gotta mix it up sometimes,” Emma said casually, shooting a look at Killian and feeling her heart racing in her chest, begging him to look back at her, to make some inappropriate comment about mixing it up or three Englishmen. But instead, he simply cast her a slightly surprised look and hummed in agreement before turning back to David and asking him for details about the camping trip. 

Emma’s face burned. Her stomach hollow, empty, bile burning in her throat as tears stung her eyes at his complete dismissal. He wouldn’t even acknowledge her now. It was like their lighthearted banter and ongoing feud was over, like it had never happened and he was acting like it didn’t even bother him - as though it had never mattered to him. And it was her fault. She knew it was but what was she supposed to do? Take back kissing him? Ask him to be an ass to her again? 

Graham looked at her again and then glanced at how close she was standing to Killian. She hadn’t even noticed. At some point she’d shifted to lean on the kitchen island, turning her body towards him and leaning in. She straightened up uncomfortably, feeling like he was calling her out. She got up, making a point of stepping away, getting coffee as an excuse. She tried not to notice that it looked as though Killian’s body relaxed the moment she stepped away from him. 

Graham was persuaded into staying for lunch after getting out of the camping trip, but promised to be back in two days for the wedding. The morning was hectic, both groups scrambling to get things ready for their respective bachelor and bachelorette parties. Mary Margaret busied herself in the kitchen, getting food ready for the boys to take with them, swearing that if she left them to their own devices, the idiots would probably try to hunt for their dinner or only pack beer and no food at all. 

The boys were going through their things, making sure they had enough of everything they needed. Mary Margaret hadn’t been wrong, most of it  _ was _ beer. While Graham hadn’t been persuaded to join the trip, Liam had and so now they were searching the house and each other’s things for an extra sleeping bag. Killian apologized for the dozenth time. Apparently inviting his brother had been very last minute and he tried to offer him his own sleeping bag, insisting it was warm enough for him to sleep without one. 

“Too bad Elsa isn’t coming,” Will quipped with a shit eating grin. “Then she coulda shared hers.” Belle chastised him as he was slugged in the arm by the very red faced (and apparently very strong) blonde. Killian didn’t even react to his flustered and stammering brother. 

“I can’t believe you don’t have an extra,” Killian said to Robin. “You’re a dad. Aren’t you supposed to always be prepared or something? Shouldn’t your minivan be stocked to the brim?”

“I’m not your dad though am I?” Robin commented, raising a brow at his friend. “And besides, you’re the one who invited your brother and neglected to even tell him about this trip.”

“You can argue about who gets to be Killian’s daddy later,” Ruby chimed in, emerging from the basement. “Mary Margaret found a sleeping bag.” 

Emma watched Killian out of the corner of her eye, waiting for his eyes to light up at the clear and easy opening. She waited for his brow to lift and that smirk of his to tug at his lips. But none of that happened. Instead he let out a small huff of a laugh, incredibly unconvincing and then began packing the items he’d been searching through back into his bag. 

Everyone was quiet for a moment. Ruby shot Emma a look that was all at once shocked, concerned and maybe a little accusatory, like somehow she knew that the change in Killian was her fault. And it was her fault. She just didn’t know why. Was he mad? Hurt? Bored? She should have never fucking kissed him. She’d been so stupid. She missed him. It had been less than an hour since she woke up and he was right there but she  _ missed him _ . Everything was different. Her whole world suddenly felt wrong all because Killian wouldn’t look at her, because he wouldn’t crack inappropriate jokes. 

Will broke the silence and started complaining that Robin had brought his guitar and Robin challenged that there was no use pretending he and David wouldn’t get hammered and sing all the wrong lyrics at the top of their lungs by nightfall. Emma used the distraction to excuse herself quietly, claiming the need to start getting props ready for the very unclassy girls night that would follow the very classy spa day. Nobody paid her much mind, apart from Mary Margaret whose look was far too knowing and far too pitying for Emma to take. She rushed out of the kitchen, needing to get out of there before she made an idiot of herself and started crying over a man she thought she hated. 

***

Mary Margaret was in the kitchen, prepping lunch when Graham came in. “Can I help?” he offered and she smiled. She didn’t mind doing most of the cooking for her group of friends, but she always appreciated the help. 

“How are you with a peeler?” she asked, pointing to the potatoes that needed to be made ready for salad. Graham winced apologetically. 

“Poor,” he confessed and she laughed. 

“How about a knife?” 

He smiled a little shyly. “Much better.” 

She handed over the knife she’d been using to cut vegetables and let him take over as she started on the potatoes. They worked in silence for a while, a part of her wondering why he was in here helping her rather than hanging out with the others. But as she watched him, she started to grow concerned. He looked sad - if there was a way to sadly cut vegetables, he’d found it - and she worried she knew why. 

“Are you alright, Graham?” she asked and he looked up at her. He held her gaze for a moment, feigning ignorance before he sighed and the melancholy expression returned. She’d been told she was hard to lie to. 

“I’m alright,” he said. “ _ I’ve been better _ , but I’m alright.”

“Did something happen?” she pressed. 

He set the knife down but wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I told Emma I loved her last night. Not in so many words maybe, but the sentiment was there.” He sighed. “It didn’t go how I’d hoped.” 

“Oh, Graham, I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching out to place a hand on his arm.

“It’s alright,” he said, insisting when she looked doubtful. “No, really, it is. I sort of knew already.” 

“Knew what?”

“That I wasn’t the one for her. That there was someone else that got there first or who just… fit better.” Mary Margaret let out a soft hum, thinking of the conversation they’d all had this morning. Graham finally looked at her then and there was something knowing as he narrowed his eyes at her. “You know too, don’t you? You’ve known all along.” 

“Known about what?” His look told her he didn’t buy it. She’d also been told she wasn’t a very good liar.

“About Killian.” 

It was her turn to sigh. “I’ve had my suspicions,” she admitted. “But I didn’t know for sure until last night.” 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

An idea struck her then. “Do you -” She caught her words, realising what she was about to ask him.

“Do I what?”

“I hate to ask you.” 

“Just ask.” 

“Do you still care about her?”

“Yes.” He took a moment, took a deep breath. “But I think I’ll survive it. If it wasn’t mutual, if it wasn’t reciprocated, then that means she’s not one and so whoever she is is still out there. Now go on, what did you really want to ask me?”

She bit her lip, worried she was asking too much. “Do you care about her enough to help her finally, _ finally _ open herself up to love... even if it’s with someone else?” 

To his credit, he only considered it for a moment. “Emma’s always been my friend first. Of course I want her to be happy.” He smiled at her then, something a little mischievous in his eyes. “What do you need me to do?”

***

The morning was chaos, frantic people bouncing from room to room looking for things for the trip or for decorations and itineraries. But amongst all the madness, to Emma, everything felt as though it were happening in slow motion. The day felt long, unimportant, and she couldn’t stop herself from looking for Killian. Anytime someone walked into the room her head would jerk up, hoping it was him and then she’d find herself disappointed when it wasn't. But that was still better than the times it  _ was _ him and he barely acknowledged her. 

She wanted to be mad at him. She really did, and she was on some level, but she also knew that this was exactly how she’d treated him the last time they’d kissed. That this is what she’d done to him when they’d met again, frozen him out. And his cold indifference was harder to bear than anything he could have possibly said to her. She deserved this, she realised. No matter what she did or didn’t feel for him, she deserved to have him react like this. She just wished she didn’t care so much, wished it didn’t hurt so much.

By the time they were all sitting down to lunch before leaving, Emma was feeling miserable. She thought she’d been hiding it well, but then Will was looking at her strangely for long enough that she glared at him. 

“What?” she demanded.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked with a raised brow. She hated how well everyone here knew her. She caught Killian looking over at her then, only out of the corner of his eye. She wouldn’t have noticed his attention if she hadn’t been so fixated on him. If she was looking for a chance to say something, to apologize, this would have been it. But the thought settled like a lead weight in her gut. What if it didn’t matter? What if he didn’t care? What if it didn’t change anything?

“Nothing,” she said finally. “I had too much to drink last night. I was an idiot.” When she cast another glance at Killian, he was looking down at his hands on the counter, his jaw clenched and his stature tense.  _ Shit.  _ What a terrible choice of words. 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret cut in then. “Could you please go find your brother and Liam and tell them to come eat? I think they’re still trying to find that old star map of my dad’s in the study. And please point out that it’s supposed to be cloudy tonight,” she added with affectionate exasperation. 

She nodded, setting down the plate she’d just made herself. She wasn’t even sure what was on it. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t hungry anyway. She made her way through the maze that was this house, down three hallways until she finally reached the study. She was about to simply push her way in when she heard David and Liam speaking in hushed voices. She paused. Clearly they were having a private conversation. She didn't know whether to knock or just leave, and she was just about to decide when suddenly she heard her name. 

She couldn't help herself. She stepped closer to the door. It was open a crack, enough to see and not be seen. So she peered in, leaning against it so as to hear better. It was muffled at first, but then she heard the next name they spoke, “Killian”, and she strained to listen, her heart already speeding up. Why were they talking about her? Why were they talking about  _ her and Killian _ ?

“You can’t be serious,” David said then, suddenly clearer and louder. 

“I am,” Liam insists. “Killian’s been in love with her for five years. I thought everyone knew.” 

“With Emma? You’re joking.” Her heart stopped completely for a second then. 

“I’m not. He’s told me so.” 

“What?”  _ What! _

“Listen, for five years I haven’t been able to have a conversation with my brother without him bringing up her name. Every time he calls home he talks about her. Twice he’s come to visit since he met her, and both times I’ve caught him stalking her Instagram and her Facebook when he thinks I’m not looking. He hasn’t dated a bloody blonde in half a decade. He hasn’t dated at all really. Not seriously.”

“I knew that, but I figured he was just kind of a ladies’ man.” Emma was thinking back to all the dates Killian had brought to events. All of them were brunettes or redheads, but surely that didn’t mean anything. And Killian  _ was  _ a ladies’ man. And maybe he just didn’t like blondes. 

“He’s not though,” Liam said, drawing her away from her rationalizing. “Killian was an all or nothing kind of man. Even when he first came here I think he had a friend… an amorous friend, but he was still loyal to her - even if it wasn’t romantic. But that all ended suddenly five years ago. I thought at first that it was because he still hadn’t moved on from Milah, but now I think it’s because he’d already committed himself to someone else. The Killian you all know, ‘the ladies’ man’ is a stranger to me.”

“I can’t believe this,” David said. Neither could she. Her heart was practically trying to pound its way out of her chest. This wasn’t possible. He couldn’t. 

“Has Killian ever told you about Milah?”

“Only a little. I never pushed.” 

“Aye, that wound will be raw for the rest of his life I’m sure. He loved her like nothing I’d ever seen before. But there was an accident.” Emma felt her throat clench. _No._ Poor Killian. She could feel tears stinging her eyes. “She died suddenly and she nearly took Killian with her. Not then, but after, slowly. She certainly took a part of him with her, a part of him that I’ve missed greatly and that I hadn’t seen in a decade… until I came here yesterday and saw him talking to your sister.”  
“He is… different around her,” David admitted. “I don’t know what it is. Do you really think it’s love though?” He sounded incredulous and she tried not to be offended at his disbelief that Killian could have feelings for her. 

“I do. She’s brought something back to life in him. Killian can pretend he doesn’t like her all he wants, but I’ve seen my brother in love once before and I’m seeing it again now. Even on the car ride over he was excited to see her. When she walked into the room all the tension left him. I watched him, watched him make a fool of himself while everyone said their hellos and she didn’t acknowledge him - so he got her attention like a child and when she finally looked at him… I knew.” 

“Holy shit,” David said, taking the words right out of her mouth. “I can’t believe I didn’t know.” 

“Killian wears his heart on his sleeve,” Liam said then. “But you have to know him well to recognize it. 

“Poor Killian.” Emma was on the verge of a panic attack, or a mental breakdown, but David’s words stopped her. What did he mean  _ poor Killian _ ? “Emma can’t stand him,” he said then and Emma’s stomach dropped. “She’ll never love him back. She’ll break his heart.”

“I feared as much. I think it may be best that we steer him away before she crushes him with her indifference. I couldn’t bear to see him destroyed like that again.”

_ Wait, stop!  _ she wanted to shout. She didn’t know what she felt but - but what? Did she want him to love her? Did she want him to continue to love her? Did she want him to stop? Had she already proven David wrong and broken his heart?  _ Fair enough _ . That utterly wrecked and broken way that he’d said it. Fuck.  _ Fuck _ ! She hadn’t known. She wouldn’t have… if she’d known she… she doesn’t know what she’d have done. She can’t lie and say she wouldn’t have kissed him. 

“Maybe we could introduce him to someone new,” David suggested. “Mary Margaret has a friend at work. Ariel, I think.” 

Ariel? Emma nearly scoffed. She was far too quiet. Killian needed to be with someone more assertive, someone who wouldn’t put up with his crap, someone who would challenge him. David suggested the wedding planner next and Emma nearly recoiled. Regina? She was so cold and… uncaring. Killian was so warm and - she thought back to their conversation that night in the booth - he had so much love to give and he needed someone who would appreciate that quiet, steady support, not someone who looked like she crushed hearts for sport. 

“What about his friend with benefits that you mentioned?”

“Tink?” Liam asked, looking a little scandalized at David’s term for his brother’s past relationship. “I suppose we could suggest it. They’re already good friends and he does have a thing for blondes,” he said almost like a joke. 

_ Blondes?  _ A blonde friend whose benefits ended abruptly five years ago. Emma was suddenly back in that hallway, face to face with the woman in the towel.  _ There are two sides to every story _ he’d said and her throat tightened. Maybe she did need to ask him about that night. Maybe she didn’t even need to. She knew Killian. She’d known him that night and if she hadn’t been so scared of having her own heart broken and so busy jumping to conclusions to save face, she would have known that he wouldn’t betray her like that. He wouldn’t have dismissed it so easily - whatever it was between them that night.

“Does she live nearby?” David asked suddenly. “Invite her to the wedding!”

_ What? No! _

“Do you think it could work?”

David shrugged. “I think we need to help Killian fall out of love with Emma and this is a good place to start.”

_ Stop it! _ she screamed silently.  _ Don’t.  _ She still didn’t know why, didn't know what she wanted, but she knew that the thought of Killian falling in love with someone else felt like acid burning at her insides, eating away at everything holding her together.

“Why don’t we bring it up tonight? On the trip. The blind dates, I mean. Perhaps the others can help convince my brother it’s time to settle down with someone - someone else.”

_ No.  _ It felt weaker this time. She was lost. Lost for what to do, for what to say, for what she wanted. And she’d lost him. She didn’t even get to have him and she’d lost him already. They didn’t need to make Killian fall out of love with her. She’d done that all on her own. And that thought broke her. 

She was in love with him. It was so obvious now. Since that first night she’d tried to convince herself that it hadn’t meant anything after he’d hurt her feelings - though he hadn’t had he? She’d hurt her own, had blown her chance. She’d loved him then and the feeling had never gone away. She’d only buried it, hid it under a mountain of denial and anger and let it grow there. She may as well have planted it. And now she’d gone and ripped it up before it had a chance to grow. 

She knocked then, knowing she couldn’t take overhearing any more. Both her brother and Killian’s turned in surprise when she pushed the door open, telling them to come have lunch, that Mary Margaret was waiting. She didn’t miss the look they shot each other when they saw whatever was surely on her face and she did her best to school her features. 

She was sat across from Killian at the table; she couldn’t even say if it was on purpose or if it had just been the only seat left, but it didn’t really matter. What mattered is she couldn’t stop staring at him. Even Elsa, who was sitting beside him, shot her a strange look at one point. But she couldn’t help herself. Even as they were clearing up, she kept catching her eyes drifting back to him, warring with herself, trying to decide what to do; trying to read him, to get some sense of if she’d messed things up beyond repair, if she had a chance at all. 

She didn’t want him to date anyone else. She loathed the idea of him dating anyone else, of him  _ with _ anyone else. She felt jealous and possessive at the thought, but she had no right. Because he wasn’t hers and she’d never given him a reason to think she’d want him. He glanced up at her suddenly as he was helping wash the dishes and she cleared the table and he looked at her strangely. She glanced away but not as quickly as she should have. She could feel his eyes still on her as she stared fixedly at the plate in her hands. 

When the boys were getting their gear together and preparing to leave, everyone packed into the front hall to say goodbye - David and Mary Margaret were acting as though he was going off to war, not thirty minutes away to get drunk with his buddies - Killian found her amongst the commotion. She shot her eyes up to him in surprise as he leaned against the wall next to her, glancing at her briefly but then studying his feet. 

“Are you alright, Swan?” he asked and her heart nearly leapt at the use of the nickname. Maybe there was hope. The fact that he’d noticed, that he’d bothered to ask… Liam said he loved her. Was it too much to hope he might forgive her?

“No, no really,” she said truthfully, and while he didn’t look up, she saw his frown deepen. 

“What is it?”

She should have told him. She should have said that what was wrong was that she thought she loved him and she was worried he could never love her back now, that she may have ruined something that could have been so wonderful. But the fear that she had, and that he couldn’t forgive her, froze the words in her throat. 

She shrugged. “Oh, you know, weddings.” 

He did look at her then and it was another one of those looks that made her feel like he got her, like he knew her. And then he nodded. “Aye. Don’t worry, only two more days of this circus and then it’s over.”

He put a comforting hand on her arm and she stared at it. She couldn’t get over it - over  _ him. _ Just last night she’d been an ass to him. She’d been cruel and heartless and still he was being kind to her now. She didn’t deserve it, but she wanted it too much to stop it. She lifted her hand and let it settle over his own, squeezing it in thanks and holding it longer than she should. He looked up at her, confused and with something almost hopeful in his eyes. And then Will shouted from the door. 

“Oy! Killian! Get your ass in gear!” It was only then that she noticed everyone had gone outside and that they were left alone in the big, empty hall. He dropped his hand and it took everything she had not to grab for him, to chase after him and stop him and do  _ something _ before it was too late. She felt like he was walking right out of her life and taking her heart with him. But he paused, glancing back at her for a moment before walking out the door. 

***

Killian had only just stepped out onto the porch when he heard voices coming from the grounds. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it except that he heard his name. He hesitated, ducking into the shadows cast by the tall shrubs on the other side of the railing. He couldn’t see them, but he knew it was Mary Margaret and Graham. 

Killian didn’t know Graham very well but as much as he hated it, he liked the man. Emma had brought him out with them one of the first nights after she’d stopped talking to him and Killian could tell by the way he looked at her that Graham had feelings for her. It had made him so angry, viciously jealous and possessive of something that wasn’t his and he’d wanted to hate the man, had done his very best to despise him. 

But the problem was that Graham was such a bloody good guy that he couldn’t. He was kind and friendly, even if a little shy and he was honest. And he was good in the way that made Killian guilty. In the way that he didn’t seem to want or expect anything from anyone and at the time Killian had wanted Emma more than anything.

“I knew it!” Mary Margaret said suddenly and the other man shushed her. 

“Someone will hear you,” he hissed. 

“I knew she was in love with him. I knew it when I saw them kissing that first night. I knew Emma liked Killian and I never believed that it went away.” 

Killian inhaled sharply, the blood draining from his face.  _ Emma liked him _ ?  _ Had _ liked him maybe, but  _ still _ ? And love? That was impossible. But even as he thought it, his fingers brushed against his lips, remembering the way she’d kissed him, how she’d slowed their drunken makeout, turned it into something else, something more real. 

“She all but confessed it to me last night,” Graham said and Killian was brought back to the conversation at hand, leaning in so close he nearly tipped over the railing. 

“Tell me everything,” Mary Margaret demanded. 

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Last night I told Emma how I felt about her and she shot me down.” Killian’s chest lightened suddenly. As much as he liked Graham, he couldn’t stand the idea of him and Emma together - couldn’t stand the idea of Emma with anyone if he was honest. 

“How does that mean she loves Killian?” Mary Margaret asked skeptically. 

“Because I asked her if she did.” Killian was waiting on bated bloody breath, wanting to demand to know how Emma had answered. Thankfully, Mary Margaret did it for him. “She didn’t say no,” Graham answered finally, and Killian thought he may be having a heart attack. Surely his heart should’ve been beating. 

“She got this look on her face,” he continued. “That one she always gets when she’s realizing something she’s afraid of. I’ve seen it before, when she wants something - really wants it - and she could have it and so she runs scared from it. I saw it when she was asked to take the detective’s exam the first time. That look where the fear of losing something, of not getting it, terrifies her so much that she can’t go through with it.” 

“I know what you mean,” Mary Margaret said, sounding far away. “She’s lost so much that she cared about. Her parents abandoned her and then Neal did too.” 

Killian only had a vague idea of who Neal was, Emma’s high school boyfriend who got her in some sort of trouble with the law and then disappeared without a trace. But the bite in Mary Margaret’s tone made him think there was a lot more he didn’t know and he suddenly felt angry for Emma, for everything she’s lost and for everyone who’d abandoned her. 

“And then Ruth died and since then… she’s just been so scared of wanting things, of wanting people in her life, of getting attached. When I first met Emma, it took me a really long time to get through to her and that was before a lot of the worst happened. She pushed me and David and Ruth away because she thought we’d leave. But the night she met Killian there wasn’t any of that fear. It was the only time I’ve ever seen her get close to someone without it and I was so hopeful. But then something happened. She changed her mind.”

“I don’t think she did. I think she’s been running scared and lying to herself for five years. The more she wants something the more she pushes it away. I’ve never seen her push something away as hard as she has Killian.” Killian’s knuckles went white against the railing as he tried to get his breathing under control. “I asked her if she loved him and she didn’t deny it. She looked terrified,” Graham said softly. “That’s about as close to a confession of love as I’ve ever seen from her.” 

“Oh my god,” Mary Margaret breathed. “She loves him.” 

Killian was reeling. Was it possible? Could Emma really love him? Could all the pain and the anguish of the last five years and of the last twelve hours really have been her running scared, guarding her heart for fear he’d break it? It was the last thing in the world he would ever want to do. The last thing he could imagine. Their playful rivalry may have gotten heated at times but he’d die before he hurt her, before he let anyone else hurt her. And yet he had, albeit unintentionally. He’d given her reason to doubt him all those years ago. He’d let her run. He should have fought for her.

“We need to put a stop to it,” Mary Margaret said then, sending him reeling all over again. “Killian doesn’t love her. He’s not a relationship kind of guy. He doesn’t believe in love. He’s said it enough times. If Emma loves him and he rejects her… it’ll break her.” 

His heart was racing now. Fuck. He had said that. No wonder his friends thought Emma should avoid him, no wonder Emma had avoided him. But he’d only said that, only tried to live that way because… because it was too hard to face wanting Emma and knowing she could never want him back. So he’d tried to lose himself. In women and in lies. But he’d failed miserably. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe if he just told her, if he could find a way to reassure her, to make her believe that he was sincere, that he was in this for the long haul -

“Graham, why don’t you stay?” Mary Margaret said then. “Maybe Emma just got spooked. Maybe, if you give her some time, if we can convince her to stop holding out for Killian… maybe she’ll see that she should give you a chance.” 

Killian nearly burst from his hiding place to protest when Will spotted him, shouting at him once again to warn that they would leave without him. He stood frozen for a moment before making his way down the steps, somehow managing not to fall and crack his head in his daze. 

She loved him. She  _ maybe _ loved him. The thought wouldn’t stop repeating itself over and over as he climbed into Robin’s minivan. The whole ride he barely said a word, too caught up in replaying Graham and Mary Margaret’s conversation, in trying to figure out what it meant, what to do about it. Everyone in the van was excited, rowdy, and here he was, sitting there practically picking petals off a daisy.  _ She loves me, she loves me not _ . 

The real question though was did he love her back. Really love her, enough to risk her breaking his heart for a third time if she denied him again. He didn’t even have to think about it. Of course he did. He’d been in love with her since he met her and he’d done everything in his power to convince himself he didn’t because it hurt less than being rejected. 

But if there was a chance she loved him back… Just this morning he’d decided to give up because there was no hope and now, suddenly, there was. A part of him wanted to disregard what was said, afraid of getting hurt again like he was that first night, and last night, and every time he saw her in between. 

But then he remembered the way she’d looked at him just now in the hallway, how she’d held her hand over his and the vulnerability in her eyes. And there  _ was _ something there just… was it love? Could it become love? If he could explain what happened that night, tell her that he hadn’t wronged her, that she didn’t have to be afraid with him… would she take that risk? Was it too late for him to try? 

He’d never felt so claustrophobic before. He wanted to be anywhere but in this car. He wanted to go find Emma and confess everything he felt and everything he’d  _ ever _ felt and ask her to tell him if she loved him. But they were already on the highway. So now he was left to go on this bloody camping trip and spend the whole time wondering if Emma was going to be talked out of loving him. Wondering if Emma was going to fall into Graham’s arms tonight because he wasn’t there and because he’d been too much of a chicken to tell her how he felt and to try again. 

***

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so relaxed in my life.” Mary Margaret let out a long, low groan as she collapsed onto the sofa. “I could sleep for days.”

“Speak for yourself,” Elsa complained. “I’ve still got mud in places nobody ever should.” 

“Hey! None of that!” Ruby snapped, shoving the bride’s feet off the cushions and onto the floor. She pushed a large glass of what was likely vodka and soda into her hands. “The party’s just getting started.” She handed her a straw shaped like a penis and Mary Margaret guffawed before raising her glass in a toast and taking a sip like a good sport.

Ruby set about making drinks, her bartending days serving her well, while Elsa put on some music. Belle was admiring Mulan’s manicure and all in all, the group was rallying for a long, late night of celebrating their friend’s last night as an unmarried woman. But for all they went on about being so relaxed and excited for the night and the rest of the weekend, Emma had never been so tense in her life. Even the masseuse had commented on how tight her muscles were - even she couldn’t work the knots out. 

Emma nursed her drinks, doing her best to participate in the games that Belle had spent so much time on, making a point to try to remember to cringe or react whenever something inappropriate was revealed about her brother. But she’d be lying if she didn’t say she was relieved when it was all over, when she’d pinned the last penis on the cardboard cutout and Belle had surprised them all by managing to get the most condoms on her banana in the minute she was given. 

The party had fallen into a natural lull, everyone chatting and giggling and going on about wedding details and work and the men and women in their lives. Emma stared fixedly at her glass of wine, wondering what the guys were talking about; if they’d already progressed to talking about their love lives, about Killian’s, if they’d started trying to convince him to go out with one of the women they suggested, and to forget about her. She caught her lip between her teeth and bit down hard, trying to stop the lump in her throat from growing. 

“Okay, I’m sorry but I  _ need _ to know,” Mulan said finally, interrupting the current conversation. She turned to Elsa. “Did you fuck Liam last night?” 

“Yes!” Ruby jumped in. “I’ve been dying to know! What’s going on there? Give us the dirty details!” Even Belle and Mary Margaret nodded in interest, both a little sloppy already. 

“Um,” Elsa hesitated, turning bright red. But a small smile crept onto her face. “No.. not exactly.”

“Oh my god!” Mary Margaret squealed. “Tell us everything!” 

“Was he good?” Belle and Mulan demanded. Elsa turned even redder. Emma didn’t know she had a darker shade. 

Ruby scoffed. “Of course he is. Look at him! He’s gotta be. Him and his brother. Too much charm and roguish good looks in one family if you ask me. It’s pretty unfair.” 

Mary Margaret lets out a slightly slurred and far too interested hum. “Yeah, when Killian told us he was bringing his brother, I didn’t know if the world could handle another man who looked like Killian Jones.” 

Belle let out a false gasp. “Mary Margaret! You’re a married woman,” she chastised.

Her friend smirked slowly. “Not yet. And I don’t think I’ll ever become that blind.” 

“Mary Margaret!” Belle laughed, almost spitting out her drink. 

“What, like you haven’t thought about it?” she accused. Belle blushed a little but shrugged. She looked at Ruby then with an almost salacious, curious brow raise. “You’ve never… with Killian have you?” 

Emma could not believe the turn this conversation had taken. She tried to keep herself from staring at Ruby, worried that her panic would show on her face. The thought of Killian and Ruby having been together tore her up inside, made her jealous and  _ envious _ . Ruby caught her eye though and a knowing expression crossed her face. 

“No, never,” she said seriously and Emma let out a sigh of relief. Ruby turned back to the group then. “But I won’t say I never thought about it. That jawline could cut glass and I could think of all sorts of things he could do with that smart mouth.” 

Emma watched in terror and disbelief as all her friends burst into giggles and agreement and revealed one by one that they’d all thought about sleeping with Killian at some point. She hated the possessiveness and the bitterness that stirred within her. She didn’t want Killian to be with anyone else. She didn’t want him to want anyone else, no matter how many women clearly wanted him.

“You know what I think though,” Belle said then, very pensively for someone six drinks in. “Something tells me he’d be real attentive. He’s always studying people and listening, you know? I think he’d make a good boyfriend too if he ever gave it a shot.” Everyone nodded in agreement again, debating the qualities Killian possessed that would make him both a good lover and partner and Emma watched them all in disbelief, feeling like she’d entered some sort of twilight zone where Killian had suddenly become the most eligible bachelor around. 

“What about you?” Belle asked then, and all eyes turned on Emma. “Have you ever thought about it?” The question was innocent, part of the girl talk they’d been having, but Emma felt the blood drain from her face, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs and she struggled for something to say. 

“What?” Elsa said then, coming to her rescue. “No, not Emma. She hates him. Besides, Emma’s not interested in love. She wants to be on her own and independent forever and that’s her prerogative. She doesn’t need a man confusing things - especially not Killian.” 

“You’re right, sorry,” Belle apologized.

Every word Elsa said was quoted verbatim from something Emma had said herself. But to hear her friends agreeing that the very idea of her falling in love was ridiculous bothered her more than she expected. It didn’t hurt so much as it shook something up inside of her, something that screamed no, that it wasn’t true, that she wasn’t as content as they thought she was, as she’d claimed to be. 

“I never -” she started and everyone looked at her. She swallowed. “I never said I didn’t want to fall in love  _ ever. _ I just… didn’t think it was in the cards for me is all.” She’d never seen so many jaws drop at once. 

“And now?” Mary Margaret asked. Emma panicked again, gaping awkwardly as she looked to each of them, desperate for someone to change the subject. Now? Now she didn’t know. She didn’t know what she wanted, not for sure, but there was this gaping, empty part of her that had been festering since last night, that had been growing since he left. Now... now she just wanted to see him. 

“I’m going to ask Will out,” Belle said suddenly, turning everyone’s attention away from Emma to her overwhelming relief. “I’ve been waiting months for him to just ask me already. He almost kissed me last night but he chickened out.” 

“Wow,” Ruby said, looking at Emma accusingly out of the corner of her eye. “Everybody was just kissing everybody last night weren’t they?” Emma sucked in a sharp breath. Had they been seen?

The doorbell rang then and Emma jumped up, offering to get it, glad for the excuse to leave the room and avoid talking anymore about exactly who had been kissing who the night before. When she opened the door, she was met with a prince and a knight, one of whom was carrying a boombox. Ah. The strippers were here. 

“Down the hall and to the left,” she told them, pointing behind her. 

She meant to follow them. She knew she should have been making more of an effort to be a part of tonight’s festivities but she just… she couldn’t stop thinking. About him, about them, about what might be happening on that camping trip. What if it worked? What if Liam and David managed to convince him that liking her,  _ loving _ her was a bad idea? What if Tink came to the wedding and he just… moved on?

She knew what she’d said, about love and about wanting to be alone, about happily ever after not being in the cards for her. She’d believed it too. But now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe she didn’t want to be alone… not if she could have him. But she was so scared that she’d lost her chance, that she’d made too big of a mistake, that she’d hurt him one time too many. She may have been trying to protect her own heart, but what if she’d broken his beyond repair in the process? And the scariest thought - was she willing to, or even able to risk having her heart broken again? 

She thought of her parents, the countless foster homes, Neal, Ruth… she couldn’t breathe, she needed air, she needed… She pushed past the door onto the porch, leaning against the railing as she tried to catch her breath, to stop the whirling in her stomach, the fear and the anxiety and the longing. 

She wrapped her arms around herself, holding her arms tight in an attempt to sooth her racing heart and her painful memories, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t what she needed. She needed - she almost laughed out loud though the tears that were finally running down her cheeks. When had that happened? When had she started needing anyone? Craving anyone? Wanting comfort? She’d always been so good at taking care of herself. 

She wasn’t even sure what she was doing, part of her sure it would be a mistake. But she found herself reaching into her back pocket, pulling out her phone and finding a number she’d had for five years and had never dialed. She pressed the call button. 

***

Killian was sitting quietly by the campfire, playing with the label on his beer as Will tried to talk Robin into letting him play his guitar and Liam and David debated the proper way to grill steaks on an open flame. He wondered what Emma was doing, if she was as miserable as him, if she was having fun with her friends and not even sparing him a thought, or, worst of all, if she was somewhere wrapped up in Graham. The can dented a little in his grip. 

He stared fixedly at it, as he had been for most of the night, partly because he was admittedly letting himself fall into a broody sort of mood, but more so because whenever he looked up, he was met by concerned and sometimes sympathetic glances from his friends. He glanced up then and received one from his brother. He frowned and took a long drink. Maybe he could drink her out of his mind. 

He was wondering if he could get away with claiming illness and going to bed early, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with a frown and nearly choked on his beer. Emma was calling him. His heart pounded in his chest. He wasn’t even sure if it was in excitement or in fear. Probably both. She was calling him.  _ She _ was calling  _ him _ . His heart clenched then. Something must be wrong. Emma wouldn’t call him unless something was terribly wrong.

He rushed to his feet, mumbling something about having to take a piss and darting into the woods. As soon as he was far enough away not to be heard over Will’s off-key singing, he answered, bringing the phone quickly to his ear. 

“Swan?” he said, a little breathlessly. There was a long pause before she answered. 

“Hey.” 

“Is everything alright? Are you okay?” he demanded, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. 

“No, I mean, yes. Everything’s fine.” 

His sigh of relief felt like the first breath he’d taken in hours. He hesitated, waiting for her to say something but the line stayed quiet. He shuffled his feet, scratching behind his ear with his free hand. Finally, he cleared his throat and was going to ask her why she called when she spoke first.

“How’s your camping trip going?” The question caught him so off guard that it took him a moment to formulate a response. 

“It’s alright,” he said, a smile pulling at his lips. He let out a chuckle. “David’s having a good time. He’s absolutely hammered but we’ll make sure he’s in fighting shape for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. Will nearly burnt his eyebrows off pouring whiskey on the fire to get it lit. But he’ll survive.” She laughed and it was the best sound he’d heard all night.

“Will’s an idiot.” 

“Aye,” he agreed. “His risk may not have been calculated but it worked, I’ll give him that.”

She laughed again. “Yeah, he’s definitely never been afraid of taking risks - especially the dangerous ones.” He hummed in agreement. He’d always envied that about his friend. Even if more often than not it meant he had to carry him home or drive him to the hospital. “It’s a good thing about his eyebrows though because Belle is going to ask him out tomorrow.”

He gasped in disbelief. “She’s not!” 

“She is! She said she got tired of waiting.”  _ Ah _ , the one thing Will  _ wasn’t _ ballsy about.

“We  _ all  _ got tired of waiting for him to get the bloody nerve up. Hell, if he didn’t do it one of us was gonna have to step in and do it for him.” She agreed, laughing again and he smiled wider. “How are things over there?”

“There are dicks everywhere.” He barked out a laugh, picturing it. “I swear Ruby found every single dick shaped blow up or cardboard cut out or straw or freaking food in town and piled it into the living room. The strippers just got here. Mary Margaret is loving it. She’s nowhere near as classy and demure as she pretends to be.”

“Oh, I know,” he agreed, trying not to read too much into the fact that she’d passed up on the strippers to talk to him. “I was the one who drove her home after her twenty-fitfth.” 

“Was that the one where she-”

“Aye.” She huffed and he could picture her shaking her head, trying to hold back a laugh. “How’s Elsa handling the strippers?”

“I’m not sure, but when the doorbell rang and she put it together, I’d never seen her so uncomfortable.” 

It was his turn to shake his head, biting his lip against the smile tugging at it. He glanced back at the camp where Liam was. “I think my brother quite fancies her.” 

“Yeah. I think she likes him too.” 

Killian tried to swallow down the lump of jealousy that formed in his throat. Of course he wanted his brother to be happy but he couldn’t help but envy him the ease with which he found that happiness. “They make sense together,” he said finally. 

“Maybe they’ll be each other’s dates to the wedding.” 

He felt a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Are you suggesting my brother stand me up?” She laughed, easy and light. “I suppose I should have known. He always did have a thing for blondes.” 

“A family trait, I think.” 

He gave a small gasp, sure that he’d heard her wrong. But the silence on her end was tense and he knew that she’d just realised what she’d said. For a moment everything had been like it was, it was light and fun and they’d fallen back into that easy back and forth they’d always had. But they weren’t the same. He was in love with her. But he’d always been in love with her. What changed was that he was tired of pretending he wasn’t. 

“It is.” The line was silent. He waited for a moment, counting the thumping beats of his heart against his chest. He could see her so vividly, pulling her lip between her teeth, that line creasing between her pinched brows, her thumbnail finding its way to her mouth. “Emma,” he said finally. “Why did you call me?”

Still she said nothing and it gave him hope. Emma was always most afraid of saying the things she felt most. And she was here, talking to him, calling him in the middle of the night when they were supposed to be at their friends’ beck and call… just to talk. She was with him, not off with Graham somewhere, not off doing god knows what with the girls. With him. He thought maybe, just maybe, what he’d overheard was true. Maybe his fear of bad timing and too much water under the bridge and too many mistakes was wrong. 

God he missed her. He missed her like she was a part of him, something that had been cut out, amputated, and he was still feeling the phantom pains of where she should be. 

“Swan, what happened… the girl in my apartment, she was just a friend. Nothing happened.” There was more silence and he’d almost given up when:

“I know.” 

His hands trembled, as did his breath, blood humming wildly through his veins. “That night wasn’t a lie. Everything that happened… all of it was real. All of it. At least - it was for me,” he finished quietly, laying his whole damn heart on the line. 

He heard her sharp intake of breath. “Goodnight, Killian.” 

He sighed, pinching his brows between his fingers. Fuck. “Goodnight, love.” The phone went dead. He hung his head, putting his phone back in his pocket before heading back to the camp, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings now and not caring enough to. 

“Oy, you been out in the woods with your dick in your hand all this time?” Will shouted as he emerged from the treeline. 

“Sober up, Will,” he snapped, his patience too tried. “You’re not gonna have a chance in hell with Belle if you’re a bloody mess at dinner tomorrow.” 

“Woah, Killian,” Robin said then. 

“A lil harsh,” David slurred. 

“Maybe I’m just tired of you pining after Belle for ages now and never doing anything about it.” 

“Bit rich coming from you,” Will accused.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Killian demanded. Will looked at everyone, all of whom wore matching expressions that clearly suggested they were all in on something. David’s look was a warning and Will grumbled.

“Nothing. Just maybe not everyone here wants to be alone forever. Is it so bad to like someone and want to be with them? Some of us want more than just one nameless woman after another. That was fine when we were twenty-one, but we’re bloody grownups now aren’t we?” 

His words felt like a slap in the face. In fact, he’d have rather Will had punched him than say them. Was that really what all his friends thought of him? With somber acknowledgement, he realised he hadn’t given them an excuse not to. Apart from Liam, they knew little of his past, only that he’d loved someone who’d died. But they didn’t know to what extent it had destroyed him. They also didn’t know that he’d been destroyed all over again the moment he put himself back out there. He’d bragged and bugged them for years about being single and how much he liked it that way. Of course that’s what they’d think. 

“Maybe… Maybe that’s not what I want anymore either.” He was met with shocked looks, Liam’s a little too understanding. 

“What’s happened?” Robin asked, his voice almost awestruck. “Did you meet someone?” 

“Who is she?” Will demanded.

“What changed your mind?” David asked a little more gently, his eyes half shut. 

“Nothing,” Killian said, shaking his head. “No one. I just, maybe I can understand why someone would want to risk it, put themselves out there for a chance at the one - if they’re the right one.” They still looked shocked but to his relief, there was no judgement or mocking in their expressions.

“S’good,” David mumbled and Killian barked out a laugh. 

“Aye, it’s all your fault with your bloody stag night speeches,” he told him, taking a seat next to his brother. David smiled at him as Liam patted him on the back and suddenly he was feeling all too vulnerable. He could see Robin gearing up to press further and so he burst out the first thing that came to mind. “Belle’s going to ask Will out tomorrow!” 

Will looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “... W-what?” 

“Aye, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll beat her to the punch and do it yourself.” 

Suddenly everyone was focused on Will, each man offering up his own opinion of how exactly he should go about it, some of it questionable. Killian picked up his can from where he’d left it, taking a long drag of the now warm beer. He could feel Liam staring at him. 

“What?” he asked, not looking away from the chaos in front of him. He took another sip. 

“I’m proud of you.” 

Killian cleared his throat, the lump that had suddenly formed there making it hard to swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He brushed it off. It was strange how much he still craved his big brother’s approval after all these years. 

“Yes you do,” Liam said softly, but left it at that. 

And he was right, he did know. And he knew what he had to do when he got back. He had to tell her. He had to risk it, had to just throw the whiskey on the fire and see if it would light. A man who didn’t fight for what he wanted deserved what he got. So, rejection or not, when he got back to the house, he would tell her how he felt. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, you didn't read that wrong. Apparently I'm incapable of wrapping this story up so there will now be a fifth part (and maybe an epilogue...)  
> Thank you as always to @ultraluckycatnd for your invaluable help as a beta <3  
> This chapter is absolutely rated M.

Emma woke up with only the slightest headache - especially in comparison to yesterday, _and the day before_ … maybe she needed to take it easy at the rehearsal dinner tonight. But her headache was the least of her worries as she slowly sat up from her spot on the living room floor and realised what exactly it was that had woken her. Ruby and Mary Margaret were speaking in low voices in the kitchen, Ruby shushing softly and Mary Margaret… Was she _crying_? 

Emma rushed to the kitchen only to find Ruby frantically trying to console the other woman who looked panicked and frazzled, the last thing she should be the day before her wedding.

"What happened? Is David okay?" she asked, panic ebbing as Mary Margaret nodded. "What's wrong?" Emma didn't know what to do. She was bad with comfort, she was bad with feelings - last night was proof enough of that. Her hand felt awkward as she reached to put a hand on her friend's shoulder.

She let out a sob. "Everything's falling apart!" she cried.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked, casting Ruby a desperate glance as Mary Margaret let out a few shuddering breaths before speaking again. 

“Nothing’s ready. Nobody is here to set things up. Nothing was prepared ahead of time like it was supposed to be. People will be here in -” she glanced at her watch - “ _six hours_ ,” she cried. “And nothing is ready! It’s going to be a disaster. I knew we should have eloped. I didn’t want any of this and now my mom will lose her mind and -”

“Okay,” Emma said, taking her hand. “We’re gonna fix it. It’ll be fine.”

“Who?”

“Me. And Ruby and Belle and everyone else. What needs to be done?”

“Everything,” she said, already having given up. Emma had never seen her so upset. She couldn’t imagine the stress she was under. She’d only met the Blanchards a handful of times, but she knew they were difficult people to please and there was nothing Mary Margaret hated more than letting people down. And Emma wasn’t about to let _her_ down. 

“Okay.” Emma cast another look at Ruby. “I’m sure we can narrow that down, right?” she asked, hoping beyond hope that Ruby or Belle or even Elsa had a little more detail on what actually had to be done by this evening. Ruby nodded, reading her mind. 

“You,” she said, turning to her still crying friend, “go upstairs, take a bath in that ridiculously huge tub and don’t worry at all about any of this. We’re going to take care of it. All you need to think about is whatever romance novel you’re reading while you soak.” The others came in then, wearing matching looks of concern and apprehension. 

“Elsa,” Emma said. “Get Mary Margaret upstairs and help her relax a little okay?” Elsa nodded, bringing their still distraught friend out of the kitchen. “Belle, Ruby, what actually has to be done?” 

Emma had no clue what went into an actual wedding. She’d never even imagined she’d have one, let alone plan one. But Mary Margaret had been planning this since she was five years old, and her parents had certainly put strict stipulations on certain aspects. “And where the hell is the wedding planner?” she demanded. 

“We don’t know,” Ruby said. “That’s what started all this. The decorators are supposed to be here, the tents and tables and floors are already supposed to be set up. We’ve been trying to call Regina all morning but there’s been no answer.”

“How many tents?”

“Ten,” Ruby winced. Crap. With the tables and the floors and the lights, that would take all day. 

“What about the food?” 

“The caterers didn’t have any clue what we were talking about. They swear Regina never told them about tonight or tomorrow. They said they could do tomorrow for a stupid expensive last minute price, but not tonight.”

“I swear if I find this Regina...” Emma started.

“You and me both,” Mulan agreed, glaring at the very thought of the wedding planner. 

“What about Granny?” Emma asked suddenly, thinking of Ruby’s grandmother. “Do you think she could pull something like this together in that amount of time? Tonight's smaller, only a hundred people or so.” _Smaller my ass_ , she wanted to say but considering the wedding itself would be in the three hundreds… 

“She might,” Ruby said, already pulling out her phone. “It’ll be lasagnas and burgers, but I think she would do it for Mary Margaret.” 

“I can get started on figuring something out for the place settings,” Belle volunteered.

“Great. Elsa,” she called when her friend came back downstairs, “you and I can get started on the tents. Mulan, you’re with Belle.” 

Everyone got to work, Emma and Elsa labouring furiously over the assembling of the tents. She was sweating by the time Ruby came out and confirmed that Granny had agreed to help, and they’d only set up one. They still had to do the floors. They took a breather when they got the second one up, arms aching, and set to making place cards and party favors from what little _had_ arrived. 

Emma was bagging her four-millionth jordan almond when the guys returned from their trip. All of them were laughing and chatting and boisterous as they walked into the kitchen where the girls were hunched over their work on the counter. They stopped cold when they saw them. She didn’t fare much better. 

The second her brother and his friends walked through the door, everything from last night came rushing back: the phone call, the overheard conversations, the hope and the anxiety. She caught herself looking for him, craning her neck to try to see behind Robin’s broad frame and when he finally walked in, her breath caught in her throat. 

He was talking quietly with Liam, a cheeky smile on his face as he elbowed his brother. But when he looked up and caught her eye he stopped short, the same panicked look that was likely on her face crossing his own before it morphed into something softer, his eyes crinkling softly at the corners in that way she loved while his mouth turned up slowly in the corners. 

Her heart was pounding, racing in her chest and she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to talk to him, but she also wanted to run. Why had she hung up the phone last night? Why was she so afraid of what he was saying? But she could tell now looking at him that he wasn’t going to let her off that easy. And maybe she didn’t want him to. Not if he was looking at her like that, like he meant it, like it was real, like -

“What happened?” David asked, breaking whatever spell Killian’s smile had pulled her into. This couldn’t be about her. Not right now. Mary Margaret needed her. She needed all of them. Whatever this was or wasn’t between her and Killian would have to wait. They had a rehearsal dinner to save. 

“Okay,” Emma said, turning to face the groomsmen with the same withering stare she used on her perps. They all looked slightly terrified and snapped to attention. “The wedding planner is MIA and nothing is ready. Mary Margaret is this close to losing it so you guys have exactly ten minutes to put your shit away and caffeinate away whatever hangover you’re dealing with, and then I need you all back here and getting to work. Will, you and Robin go to Granny’s Diner. She’s getting food ready. Help her if she needs it and then load everything up and bring it back here. Also, Robin, don’t let Will touch the food.” 

Robin agreed and the two of them headed towards their rooms to drop their stuff. Elsa set to work filling travel mugs with coffee. She could feel Killian’s gaze on her, intense and heavy. When she chanced a glance at him, he looked impressed and a little bit pleased and she could feel her cheeks threatening to flush, forcing herself to ignore how much she liked him looking at her like that. 

“David,” Emma addressed him next. “Go check on Mary Margaret. Make sure she hasn’t buried herself in doilies. Take her out for the day or something, help keep her mind off all of this.” David nodded and headed off up the stairs to find his fiance. “Killian, Liam, you’re with me.” 

Liam, used to taking orders, grabbed both his and Killian’s bags and headed off down the hall to drop them off. Killian came to stand next to her then and while Emma was pretty sure she’d forgotten how to breathe; she did her best to compose herself. 

His hair was messy from sleeping outside and his shirt smelled like campfire and forest and it was unfairly attractive. And he really was standing much closer to her than he needed to. She half expected some smug comment or a flirtation - or worse, the same coldness he’d greeted her with yesterday morning. But instead, he only put his hand over hers which was still filling the now overflowing bag with almonds. 

“What do you need from me?” he asked and a rush of relief and gratitude washed over her. 

“Tents,” she said, forcing the words out through the lump in her throat. Though she wasn’t sure if it had appeared because of her stress or because of the fact that his hand was warm over hers and his eyes were watching her carefully. 

Liam came back into the room then and she cleared her throat, forcing herself to look away. “We have eight more tents to set up by five o’clock. We did our best, but we could barely reach the canvas over the top.” 

“The tents are sexist,” Ruby supplied. 

“They’re _heightist_ ,” Belle corrected. 

“Well, I’d be more than happy to give you a boost, Swan,” Killian offered, a slow smirk sliding over his lips as his brow ticked up just the slightest bit. She raised an eyebrow in return, grateful for the familiar teasing. 

“In your dreams, Jones.” It rolled off her tongue so easily that for a moment she wondered if maybe they were back; if they were them, if that comfortable, lighthearted back and forth between them hadn’t been lost forever - if maybe it had just changed. “Let’s go,” she instructed, jumping off the stool and leaving the almonds to Belle and Elsa. “Time to prove those muscles aren’t just for show.” 

He barked out a laugh and Emma’s heart practically soared out of her chest. “As you wish,” he agreed, and she saw the way his brother rolled his eyes. She didn’t care. If he was laughing, then he didn’t hate her. If he was joking, then she hadn’t ruined it. _As you wish_. She did her best not to read into his word choice. 

***

The day was a whirlwind. By the time Emma was jumping in the shower, the guests had already started arriving. She was the last one to get ready. She was sweaty and sore and tired - and not in the good way. But it was done. They’d managed it. She could finally relax. 

Or she could have, were it not for one smirking Englishman who’d seemed to be everywhere she turned today. Any time she needed help, there he was, reaching something she couldn’t, helping her lift something, offering a word of encouragement or a good natured challenge to keep her going. 

He hadn’t even complained when she’d asked him to hang the lights in the tents when he wasn’t helping Liam with the floors. His arms must have been killing him by now if the way they were straining against his shirt was anything to go by. By the end of the day his hair and his shirt were damp with sweat, but the smile never left his face. 

Instead, he’d just let her point to each spot she specifically wanted a bulb hung by, standing far too close - _‘to make sure I’ve got it just how you like it, Swan_ . _Far be it from me to leave a lady unsatisfied with my work’_ \- and repeating ‘ _as you wish_ ’ in answer to her every request. Like she didn't know exactly what he was doing. 

And he must have known… mustn't he? She’d like to think he did. It would’ve made her feel less ridiculous every time her breath caught when he said it, every time her cheeks flushed when he leaned in and she caught a whiff of the scent that reminded her of masks and dark corners. Of course he knew. 

He knew because each time he would smile and it was that same smile that she liked so much and she wanted to say something or do something, but every word she knew seemed to have disappeared from her mind and the only thing she could think to do was kiss that smirk right off his damn face. But she couldn’t do that. And the more she chickened out the more he seemed to relax around her.

For every hesitation on her part, every poorly concealed blush or too-long gaze, he countered by finding a way to suddenly be near her, be touching her. Fingers grazed hers as he handed her whatever item she’d asked for. His shoulder bumped hers gently as they leaned over their work. A hand would brush against her waist or her back as he reached for something or squeezed past her in the abundant space, breath warm against her neck. 

It was a slow tease, intentional or not, unexpected and anticipated touches working her up into such a damn frenzy that she was starting to think she might have to turn the water on cold. But the same question kept bothering her: why?

It was clearly intentional, but why was he doing it? Why was he finding reasons to touch her and be close to her and smile at her? Was it a game? Was he testing her? Pushing her? Was it some sort of revenge for kissing him the other night and rejecting him? _Or for calling him the other night and rejecting him - again_ . Or maybe… did he just like being around her as much as she was realising she liked being around him? Was this Killian Jones trying to _woo_ her?

Her heart thudded faster at the thought. She remembered his voice on the other line last night. He’d sounded so serious, so open. He’d been honest with her and she’d hung up. She’d shut him down once again, one in a string of dozens, if not hundreds, of times over the years. That first night, every time they had one of their sparring matches, every time he tried to be friendly to her, every time he tried to help. How many times had she run from him this weekend alone? 

And yet, he was still here. He was still smiling at her and making her laugh and helping her and _flirting_ with her, despite all the shit she put him through. So maybe it wasn’t some game. Maybe it was because being around her set his mind racing and touching her set his skin on fire like it did hers. 

Maybe David and Liam had been right. He’d been honest on the phone with her. He told her it had all been real, all the things she thought she’d imagined or told herself she was imagining, the things she’d ignored or minimized or run from in self-preservation. He said it had always been real. Maybe it still was. 

It took her an hour to get ready and meet everyone outside. Her fingers had been shaking as she put on her mascara, her skin antsy and anxious as she dressed. Her heart wouldn’t calm, the nerves getting the best of her and building in her throat as she tried to swallow the champagne that David had delivered with thanks “for saving the day”.

She made her way down the stairs and into the massive entrance way, regretting her heels as her feet felt unsteady under her. _God, she was a mess._ Why was she so nervous? Why was she so terrified? _Because it might be real_ , she answered herself. _And real has been far too absent in your life_. Real... She tried not to think of the word that could slip so easily into its place. He would be out there. He’d be there waiting with his smile and his ‘Swans’ and his ‘loves’ and his realness. 

By the time she reached the door her heart was pounding so hard against her ribs she worried she’d crack one, and she was becoming seriously concerned about whether or not she remembered how to breathe. In and out - she thought so anyway. Her lungs didn’t seem to agree. 

_Get it together_ , she berated herself. It’s just Killian. But it wasn’t anymore. It was so much more now and it terrified her. Expectation, possibility, hope, disappointment, hurt, it was all out there on the line now and all Emma wanted to do was run. It was what she was good at.

But when she opened the door, her breath caught. He was there, standing on the porch in a dark blue suit and when he heard her, he turned and he smiled. Emma exhaled slowly, the shakiness leaving her breath and her limbs, a steadiness and a calmness taking their place. The slight hesitation in his smile disappeared as he blinked, looking her over carefully. 

“Swan,” he said, and the little jump her stomach did felt so different from the terrifying churning waves she’d been suffering from earlier. “You look stunning.” 

She could feel her cheeks flushing at the compliment, even as she looked him over herself. His perfectly cut suit, his hair that he’d made an attempt to wrangle into place, somehow both perfectly put together and still with that aura of roguishness she’d come to associate with him. He was unfairly good looking. How had she not noticed it before - or how had she ignored it anyway? How had she not noticed _him_ before? How had she ignored _him_?

“You look…” The words evaded her but as she saw his brow quirk and his smile turn one side of his mouth up crookedly, she knew what was coming next. 

“I know,” he winked. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small huff of laughter that left her. He looked pleased with himself. “Shall we?” he asked. He held out his arm, his expression a little hesitant despite his bravado. 

Before she could answer, however, Mary Margaret and David walked out behind her and she had only seconds before she was tackled by her friend. 

“Oh, Emma! It’s beautiful,” Mary Margaret said, squeezing her tightly. “Thank you,” she breathed against her cheek and Emma smiled. When she pulled back, Emma could see her eyes welling up and she reached into her purse looking for a tissue. 

“Hey, no, none of that!” she insisted. “You can’t go into your rehearsal dinner already crying! You can do that after the pictures,” she teased, still searching as Mary Margaret tried to stop her tears. Suddenly Killian pulled his pocket square free and handed it to her. She was surprised for a moment and then smiled, taking it from him and handing it to Mary Margaret. 

“It’s all so perfect,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with the cloth. “I don’t know how you pulled this all together.” 

Emma shrugged. “It wasn’t just me,” she said, feeling slightly awkward with the praise. “And Killian did most of the heavy lifting.” 

“I just hung some lights,” Killian answered, scratching behind his ear and looking anywhere but at the three of them.

“Modesty?” Emma teased. “That’s a first for you.”

He laughed but then seemed surprised when Mary Margaret walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, Killian.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and he flushed bright red. Emma barely heard his mumbled ‘you’re welcome’ before he cleared his throat and returned his gaze to the floor. 

Emma had only been teasing him about the modesty thing - mostly anyway - but she was shocked to see this side of him, shy and awkward about receiving thanks. She’d hardly ever seen him uncomfortable. It was almost endearing if she was being honest. 

“Shall we?” David asked then, interrupting her musings and offering his arm to his fiance in a similar way to how Killian had offered her his own only moments ago. She wondered what would have happened if she’d taken it, if they’d walked into the party arm in arm. A part of her liked the idea, even as a larger part began to panic over that word again - real. 

Mary Margaret and David headed off towards the tents and Killian began following them, slowly, lingering and looking back at her. She gathered the hem of her dress and followed after him. He smiled when she caught up. He didn’t offer her his arm again but they walked side by side across the grounds towards the music and the lights. 

“You’re a bloody marvel, love,” he said suddenly and her eyes snapped to his. He was looking ahead at the party. “I don’t know how you put this all together, but you’ve outdone yourself.” Killian turned that smile on her again and it was her turn to blush, his flattery having more of an effect on her than she’d like.

“Thank you. I meant it though, I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

It felt strange to thank him, which made her feel terrible considering all the crap she’d put him through. But if he was going to be sincere with her tonight, it was the least she could do to return the favor. Maybe he sensed her discomfort because he quirked a brow at her and smirked.

“Muscles not just for show then?” He bumped her shoulder with his own and she wondered when they’d gotten so close. 

She laughed. “I guess not. But I don’t really know if you can really justify abs using the need to perform manual labour,” she shrugged. 

He turned to her, eyes wide in feigned shock. “Swan, have you been peeping?” 

Emma scoffed. “Like you don’t use every opportunity you get to take your shirt off in public.” 

He laughed again, nodding in defeat. It was different, this thing between them, still teasing, still challenging, still _them_ , but lighthearted and fun. Her stomach flipped a bit at how much she was enjoying making him laugh at his own expense rather than trying to make him angry as she always had. She liked this new medium they’d found themselves in. They were reaching the tents now and Emma was overcome with the sudden urge to apologize, to try and make amends for… everything, for the call, for the party, for the last five years. 

“Killian,” she started but before she could say anything he stopped short, staring out ahead of them with wide eyes. 

“Oh my god.” He tapped her forearm a few times in excitement and disbelief. She frowned at him, and when she didn’t answer he turned to her, raising both brows and gesturing to a shaded corner along the outside of the tent. 

“Oh my god,” she repeated as she slapped both hands over her mouth, stifling her laugh at the sight of Liam pressing Elsa against a post while she tried to find his tonsils with her tongue. Killian’s expression grew more disgusted as the couple’s actions grew more amorous and it made her laugh harder. He frowned at her. “What’s wrong, Killian?” she asked. “Aren’t you happy for your brother?”

His lips pursed in displeasure and it was uncomfortably adorable. “I can be happy for him and not want to see him fondling one of my friends.” 

“Oh lighten up,” she said, beginning to walk towards the tents again. “They’re both adults and they can -” She stopped short when she caught sight of Belle not so sneakily leading Will out to the woods on the edge of the property. Even from here she could see the dumb grin on her brother’s face. She cringed. 

“You were saying, Swan?” Killian asked smugly as he leaned in over her shoulder. She could feel his breath on her neck and she shivered, telling herself it was out of disgust at her brother clearly about to get laid and not at the excitement of Killian being so close. “Told you so,” he added. 

“Ugh. What is it with everyone this weekend? Is there something in the air? Everyone seems to be pairing up,” she remarked. 

Killian shrugged. “It’s a wedding. It makes people want to fall in love. Or at least not be alone for the night.” 

Her chest tightened inexplicably at his dismissive tone. A thought loomed in the back of her mind, a warning, a fear, a worry. _Is that what this is_ ? Was it just the wedding? All of these changes, these feelings, the hope and the maybes… was it just the wedding? Were they just both afraid of being alone while their friends fell in love? Afraid of being left out and left behind? She’d been left behind enough to know how much it hurt, how desperate it could make someone to try and avoid it. Did he just not want to be alone for the night? Did _she_? 

Killian must have seen something in her expression even as she tried to look away because his face fell. He stepped towards her, even though there was little room between them at this point. She kept her gaze fixedly on the grass, and then on his chest when he was so close they were breathing the same air. “Emma,” he started. She forced herself to meet his eyes.

“If everyone wants to find their tables,” David said over the loudspeaker she and Ruby had struggled to install, causing Emma to jump back from him. “The food’s about to be served.” 

Emma only glanced at Killian for a moment but it was long enough to see the disappointment in his face, and the concern. He said her name again, her actual name, no ‘Swan’ or ‘love’, and she wanted to turn back but she couldn’t. Why couldn’t she turn back? Why couldn’t she just face him and hear whatever he might have to say? Because it was too much. Because she couldn’t handle it. Because she was a coward. 

She found her seat at the table with the rest of the bridal party and she was relieved to find she wasn’t sitting next to him when he arrived shortly after. But the round table made it so that she could see him out of the corner of her eye, seated on David’s right. And she could feel his gaze burning into her, the heat of it hot on her neck and face as though he’d touched her. 

She kept her attention focused on her lasagna, barely looking up throughout the meal unless directly spoken to. At one point she did chance a glance at him and he was looking at her with… she didn’t have a word for it. He looked sad, but that wasn’t all it was. There was something… expectant? No, that wasn’t right, but she couldn’t help feeling that he wanted something, to say something, to do something, like he wanted - 

“Emma, if Killian looks at you any harder he might burn a hole through your head,” Robin whispered to her then, although his volume was conspicuously higher than a whisper. “Or through your shirt,” he added with a raised brow before letting out a pleased giggle. Robin _giggled_. She stared at him with her mouth hanging open. 

“Are you drunk?” she asked. She’d never seen Robin drunk, not beyond a slight buzz at a birthday or a holiday party. 

“Pfft,” he scoffed. “I don’t need to be drunk to notice you throwing each other yearning looks across the table.” 

“Robin!”

“ _Emma!_ ” 

She crossed her arms over her chest, casting a glance at Killian and then darting her eyes away when he met them. “ _I don’t yearn_ ,” she insisted, annoyed. 

Robin put his arm over the back of her chair, leaning in to speak to her in that slightly slurred stage-whisper he’d adopted. “Perhaps you don’t,” he conceded before nodding his head towards Killian, “But he does.” 

Emma did her best to ignore him but she couldn’t stop thinking about that word… yearning. Maybe that was what she’d seen in his expression. She glanced up. There it was again. She smiled at him tentatively and watched him return it in surprise, that strange calmness washing over her again. Robin was grinning at her when she looked back at him. She rolled her eyes. 

“Shut up.” 

Sometime after dinner and before dessert, David stood up and made a toast. He spoke to Mary Margaret more than to anyone else and he promised her forever and happily ever afters and recalled all the times he’d known she was the one. It was sappy and heartfelt and so utterly David in its sincerity, even Emma found herself tearing up by the end. 

Mary Margaret’s father stood next, making a quick toast about his daughter and welcoming David into the family and talking about what an important moment this was in a parent’s life to see his child marry the love of their life. 

It was sweet and David smiled and thanked him but Emma knew her brother; she could see the slight pull in his brow, his shoulders dropping from their usual confident height. He was thinking of Ruth. Emma knew he was thinking of Ruth because _she_ was thinking of Ruth. She’d have loved this. 

She wanted to say something, anything to make him feel better, but the words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t give speeches about hope and love the way David could, she hadn’t been lucky enough to believe in it for most of her life. 

“Bugger this.” Suddenly, Robin was standing from his chair. He swayed slightly on his feet as everyone looked at him expectantly, but despite his unsteadiness he seemed very sure of himself as he spoke, slurring be damned. 

“I’ve known David a long time,” he started. “And as his elder, and a married man, I feel it’s my job to impart my wisdom on him on this the night before his wedding.” Emma shook her head, glancing at Mary Margaret who was sporting a disbelieving smile and David who was clearly holding back a laugh. “Marriage is not easy,” he went on. “It’s not like in the movies, or the fairytales.” He seemed to lose his train of thought again and swayed a bit. Emma caught his arm and he thanked her. “It takes work. You have to believe in each other every day, and choose each other every day, and take the risk of letting someone see you and love you every day and trusting that they will.” 

“David hasn’t had it as easy as people think,” Robin continued and Emma looked at her brother, offering him a bittersweet smile which he returned. “He’s got more reason than any of us to just run for the hills!” he said with a little too much enthusiasm. “But he doesn’t. Instead, he finds people and chooses people and loves them. And that’s very hard. And it’s very brave.” Robin looked pointedly at her then and even through slightly glassy eyes, she knew his next words were directed at her. “We should all be so brave.” 

He swirled back up then, wine spilling over his glass and onto the table cloth as he finished. “So here’s to David! The bravest man I know, and his lovely wife to be. May you choose each other every day.” He downed his drink in one swallow and then winced. 

David stood and walked past her to embrace his friend as everyone toasted. She looked to Killian again, unsurprised to find him watching her. He offered her a tentative smile, something hopeful. She bit her lip, torn between the part of her that wanted to believe him, that wanted to be brave, and the part of her that always, _always_ screamed to run. 

“I hate to break up the moment,” Robin said, speaking softly beside her. “But I believe I should go lie down.” He was leaning heavily on his chair and Emma had to suppress a laugh. “Could you point me towards the door?”

“There’s no door. We’re outside.”

“Ah. Well that does complicate things.” 

“Come on,” she said, standing and wrapping her arm around his waist, letting him lean on her shoulders. “Let’s get you back to the house. I’ll be right back,” she told Mary Margaret as she did her best to get Robin out as discretely as possible. 

A part of her wanted to let the others laugh at him, but after what he’d just done for David, she was feeling sentimental. So she decided to save him the embarrassment and the ribbing he’d surely get from Will after all the lectures about over-drinking Robin had given him throughout the years. 

As they made their way across the grounds and back to the house, Robin couldn’t seem to stop remarking on the size of the place, pausing multiple times to gawk and exclaim about the abundance. 

“You could fit my whole apartment in the kitchen!” he insisted. “And there are three of us living there!” 

“Well, one of them is very small,” Emma said and Robin smiled fondly. 

“I miss him. And Marian.” 

“You’ll see them tomorrow,” she promised. She hesitated as they made their way inside and up the stairs. “I liked what you said tonight,” she told him. “What you said about David, what you did for him.” 

“Did you?” he smiled as they found his room and she helped him sit down on the bed. “I’m not completely sure what I said but I’m glad you liked it.” 

“You okay from here?” she asked, hoping he’d be able to sleep it off. He nodded and she smiled, saying goodnight and started to head back to the party. He caught her hand before she left, causing her to turn back to him. She cocked her head in question.

“You deserve to be happy too, Emma.” 

She scoffed, it was all she could do to hold back the tears threatening to spill over, the only sound that would come out over the lump in her throat. She cleared it. “You’re pretty eloquent considering how smashed you are.” Robin didn’t laugh at her attempt to change the topic. 

“You should tell him,” he said seriously, and she bit her lip. “Be brave. Be brave and let him make you happy.” 

“Goodnight,” she said, taking her hand back and closing the door. She stood in the hall, unsure where to go next, what to do next.

_Be brave and let him make you happy._ Could it really be that simple? Love had only ever brought her pain. She’d been forgotten, abandoned, left behind… and yet here was Killian. Here was Killian _still_ , after years of being dismissed and mistreated at her own hands; he was still here, still - _she hoped_ \- not giving up on her. 

She thought of his hand over hers in the kitchen, of his voice on the phone, of his ‘as you wishes’ and his ‘you’re a bloody marvels’. She’d spent five years running from him, and her whole life running from love, to protect herself from even the possibility of heartbreak. Why would this be any different? 

Because _he_ was different. Or he could be different. When she’d met him, she’d never let her walls down so quickly in her life, never stopped pushing so easily. And she got her heart broken. But she’d broken it herself. And now all these years later, here he was still; still willing to let her in, still willing to be kind to her and forgive her despite how terribly she’d treated him. 

What was it he’d said that night? _I’ve got all the time in the world._ Hell if he hadn’t been true to his word. Maybe she needed to let him prove her wrong, or right. She didn’t know anymore, but she was terrified. Maybe this was what Robin meant by ‘be brave’. 

“Swan?” His voice was quiet but she whirled around in surprise. Absorbed in her thoughts, she’d lost track of time in the quiet of the hallway. He was smiling at her but something in her expression must have made him hesitate because he faltered. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He cleared his throat, looking awkward and shy and… nervous? “You were gone a while and you missed dessert,” he explained, hand coming up to scratch behind his ear. In the other he held a plate. He gave her an awkward smile, an attempt at a laugh as he joked, “I know it’s your favorite meal of the day!” 

When she didn’t answer, he cleared his throat again. She was too distracted, staring at him in awe and disbelief. He’d come to find her to bring her dessert because he knew she’d be upset she missed it. 

“Anyway you’re always going on about how much you like Granny’s pie so I…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely with the plate. It was such a small thing, it would have seemed insignificant to most she supposed. But he’d thought of her, thought of her and gone out of his way to do something kind to try to make her happy. 

For the first time in a very long time, Emma’s mind was quiet, her racing heart slowed until she could count the beats, everything calm and suddenly so blindingly obvious. None of it mattered, not the past, not her mistakes or her fears or his uncertainty. It was just them and in that moment she finally, _finally_ saw him clearly. 

There he was, exactly as he’d always been, exactly _who_ he’d always been. And she’d ignored it, too afraid, too busy lying to herself about who he really was: the kind, considerate friend, the supportive, steadfast man, the teasing, joking, lighthearted person who challenged her and excited her and _cared_ for her... and who stayed. She’d been an idiot for so long. 

She stepped forward, closing the space between them and while he looked surprised, he didn’t pull away from her. Her hand reached out, fingers tracing along the stubble that lined his cheek, over his jaw. She studied him carefully; she’d never seen him look so off-kilter before, so unsteady, but his eyes closed at her touch and he let out a shaky exhale. 

“Emma…” he said, breath warm against her face in the inches between them. She didn’t let him finish, leaning in and stealing whatever questions he had with her lips on his. 

It only took him a moment to recover, still against her for a second before he kissed her back, movements careful and uncertain, but she could feel his heart racing under her palm when she slid it down to rest on his chest. 

Emma knew why he was unsure, what he was afraid of. She couldn’t fault him for it. He had every right to expect her to run. Pulling back and resting her forehead against his, she breathed him in, felt the warmth of him pressed against her and smiled to herself and how right it felt. 

“What are you doing, love?” he asked, words whispered against her mouth. 

She took a deep steadying breath. It was time to stop running. “Being brave,” she told him, finally opening her eyes and pulling back just enough so she could look at him, feeling vulnerable and terrified, but sure. 

***

She was watching him carefully as her words registered. _Being brave_ . He’d heard Robin’s speech, he’d seen his glance at Emma as he spoke of the importance of fighting for love. _Love._ Was he a fool for getting his hopes up? But she was trying. She wanted to try, finally. 

His expression softened, his lips turning up in a smile that was shaky and shocked but _hopeful_. He set the pie down on one of the decorative tables in the hall and she laughed at the fact that he’d been holding it this whole time. 

Laughing with her, he reached a hand up, eyes falling over her face the same way hers had earlier. His fingers brushed through the hair at her temple, carding through the strands until his palm cupped her cheek. After a moment his other hand followed suit, holding her face carefully while his thumbs traced gently along her cheekbones, one sliding down to brush across her lip before he replaced it with his mouth. 

Her lips were soft under his as he kissed her; gentle, exploratory, pulling and teasing, nipping gently and soothing soft bites with his tongue. This was how he’d kissed her that first night, like it was the start of something real, something important that was deserving of attention and care, something that shouldn’t be rushed. 

She opened under him and his tongue slid hot into her mouth, finding hers and tasting, stroking slowly, languidly as he got to know her again. He freed his hands from her hair so that he could wrap his arms around her, holding her close as he pulled quiet gasps and sighs from her lips. 

It didn’t take long for their touches to grow bolder, their kisses to become longer and heavier - it never did. It was always like this, he realized, like they couldn’t get close without their blood boiling, like they couldn’t touch without catching on fire. 

He whispered her name against her lips as he breathed her in and Emma’s hands fisted in the soft material of his jacket, pulling him closer, like she wanted to have every bit of him pressed to every inch of her. He let his hands roam her body, mapping the expanse of her back, tangling in her hair, stroking her cheek, her jaw, her neck, delighting in the sighs and shivers he drew from her. She was like fire under his touch. 

He groaned into her mouth when her hips rolled against his, arm snaking around her waist and holding her there, other hand tangling in the hair at the back of her neck, keeping her where he wanted her as he deepened the kiss.

Walking her backwards until she was pressed between his body and the wall, Killian used her surprised gasp to trail his lips along her jaw, down her neck to the hollow where her throat met her shoulder. She cried out when his tongue slid across her skin, teeth grazing along after it. She was so responsive, every touch drawing new reactions and he wanted to discover every one. 

Emma fumbled with the button of his jacket, pushing to slide it off his shoulders. He stopped, pulling back to look at her with awe and uncertainty. Were they really doing this? After all this time, after they were snapping at each other a few days ago, after she’d threatened him the other night. He wanted her, wanted this, but if she changed her mind...

“Emma, are you sure? Because…”

“I’m sure,” she said. The certainty in her voice surprised him, but still his heart raced in his chest. He’d loved her for so long and now he had her in his arms; he just hoped that he’d be able to hold onto her. Too many times now she’d slipped through his fingers. But the way she was looking at him now made him swallow against emotion and desire. 

She kissed him again, slow and deep and long and he melted against her, powerless to her every whim. “Perhaps not in the hallway,” he muttered against her lips, recognizing that someone could return to the house at any moment. 

She smiled. “No, perhaps not.” 

He pulled her a few feet towards their rooms, considering which to choose. He feared if he brought her to his room it would be easier for her to leave should she change her mind. But he didn’t want to push his way into her space - she kept her life locked up so tight. 

After a few seconds, she made the decision for him and opened her door. She took his hand and led him inside. He tried not to read too much into the gesture. She was letting him in, into her room, into her bed, and hopefully, into her heart. He needed to feel her against him again, make sure this was real, that it was really happening.

They’d only just crossed the threshold when he gathered her in his arms again, sealing his lips to hers in another long, drawn out, patient kiss. Her own patience, however, seemed to be wearing thin as she began shoving at his jacket again, letting out an annoyed sound at the vest and shirt underneath when it fell to the floor. 

“Are you kidding me?” she grumbled. “You spend all your time basically half unbuttoned and today you wear seventeen layers?” 

Killian laughed, a low, smug chuckle. He pulled her closer, fingers teasing at her side as he spoke against her neck. “I knew you were looking.” He didn’t give her a chance to answer before he continued his exploration of her neck, searching for sensitive spots along the length of her throat, teeth nipping whenever he found one, thrilling in the way she squirmed under his ministrations.

Letting out gasps and a litany of other intoxicating sounds, she managed to get his vest and shirt open. He shrugged them off and she used the opportunity to run her hands along the hair on his chest. Her hands burned against his skin, sending ripples of want though him.

She ran her nails along his stomach and he hissed. She took that as encouragement and reached for his belt. His stomach jumped at the feel of her fingers against the sensitive skin but he stopped her, catching her wrists and pulling them up to wrap around his shoulders as he stepped into her space. _Not yet._ Every line of him was flush against her, his skin hot against the slinky material of her dress. He moulded his lips to hers, hands tracing the expanse of her back, holding her tightly to his chest. 

Emma’s fingers found his hair, tangling as she tried to draw him even closer, and he got lost in the roll of her hips against his own, the heat of her touch. He would never get used to how she kissed, never grow tired of it, never stop wanting more. Every nerve in his body was firing, blood racing, watching as she arched and shivered as his fingers teased her. 

The canting of her hips grew more desperate and she reached for his belt again, growling in frustration when he stopped her again. “ _Killian_ ,” she said, the sound dangerously close to a whine. He could feel her annoyance, and knew why. They’d put this off for five years, let it build up between them for ages and now she finally had him out of his clothes (mostly) and he was stopping her. 

“Slow down,” he breathed against her mouth before tracing his lips slowly along her jaw. This was Emma. This was the woman he’d loved for years, the woman he’d not been allowed to touch, or laugh with, or joke with unless there was a cutting punchline. He wanted to take his time with her, give this moment the attention, the magnitude of importance it deserved.

She pushed him back slightly until he raised his head from her shoulder. He looked at her in confusion for only a second before her mouth latched on to his neck, trailing hot and heavy kisses along his throat. A strangled gasp escaped him.

Her fingers carded in the hair at the nape of his neck, fisting and tilting his head so she could reach that spot behind his ear. He shuddered under her when she traced her tongue over it. _Fuck._ He was moments away from ripping her dress off and tossing her on the bed when she caught his earlobe between her teeth and whispered, “I don’t want to slow down.” 

She reached for his belt a third time and he was so lost in his lust and need for her that she actually managed to get it undone before he stopped her again. “Killian, please,” she practically growled at him. “We can do slow another time. Will you please just fuck me?” 

He tensed in her arms, dread colliding with his chest at her words and she paused, finally taking a moment to look at him. This was all he’d ever wanted since he met her, to hold her in his arms, for her to open up to him again as she had that first night, to admit that she felt the same way he did, that he hadn’t dreamed this thing between them. But he was so, _so_ afraid that she would run, the doubt practically swallowing him whole. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Hey,” she said, fingers running soothingly over his cheek, her thumb finding the dimple in his chin. He looked at her. “This isn’t a one time thing, okay?” she promised and his breath caught. He really was an open book to her wasn’t he? “I’m not…” The words caught in her throat and she took a steadying breath. “I’m not running. I _like_ you.” 

His brow shot up in surprise at her confession even as every inch of him flushed with warmth, with hope at her confession. He knew to anyone else it may not sound like much, but he knew how hard it was for her to speak honestly of her feelings. Even now her eyes darted to his chest, unable to look at him.

He tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her gaze back to his. He smiled softly at her, overcome with emotion, affection, love. “I like you too,” he promised, and then he kissed her. 

She smiled against his lips, his heart racing in his chest. He’d wanted to say more, there was so much he’d left unsaid, things he knew she probably couldn’t handle yet, even as they were desperate to slip through his lips. But he would tell her, he promised himself.

Killian’s fingers found the zipper at the back of her dress, pulling it down so slowly that she began her frustrated squirming again and he took pity on her, his hand moving up the naked skin of her back until he reached her shoulder. He toyed with the thin strap of her sleeve before sliding it down, pressing his lips to the skin beneath it. 

He did the same on the other side before peeling the fabric from her until it pooled at her waist. Her breathing grew unsteady as his mouth followed in the wake of her dress, hot and wet kisses pressed between her breasts, along her stomach, tongue flicking out to tease at her navel. 

She caught the sides of his head before he could continue any lower, grabbing hold of his hair and pulling him up so she could walk them backwards towards the bed. He followed willingly, eyes roving over her hungrily as they went. 

When her knees hit the bed she fell back against it, drawing him down with her and almost causing him to fall on top of her. She giggled, apparently more than happy to have his weight crushing her into the mattress. He rose up on his elbows, smiling and shaking his head at her before dipping his head down to capture her lips.

Her hands grabbed hold of his hips, keeping him pressed between the cradle of her thighs, the heat of her center torture against the hard length of him. He hummed against her, lips parting hers to slide his tongue past and Emma gave an involuntary roll of her hips. He growled, following the line of her neck to her breast, taking it into his mouth and causing her to gasp, arching against him. She slid her hand around between them, slipping into the front of his jeans and taking him in hand. 

He let out a gasping, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus, Emma.” He grabbed her wrist, lifting it over her head and pinning it to the mattress. She huffed, glaring up at him. “Will you please stop trying to get in my pants?” 

“Isn’t that kind of the point?” she asked, cocking a brow in a fair imitation of him. He laughed again but it was a pained, desperate thing this time. He looked away for a moment, trying to find the words, before meeting her eyes again, longing and desire heavy in his bones. She pressed her lips together, letting him speak. 

“I’ve waited for this for a very long time,” he said softly, looking at her with a quiet intensity. “Waited for _you_ for a very long time.” Her breath caught. “You’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought about this moment, imagined how I would touch you and taste you and make love to you - _properly_.” 

His gaze turned imploring, almost desperate. “So will you _please_ let me do it right?” This wasn’t some quick, cathartic fling. This was years in the making, years of unspoken feelings and heartache and denial finally coming to an end. And he needed to know she knew that too.

Emma nodded, swallowing heavily and he could see the hot tears burning her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said and he shook his head. “I’m sorry for everything. For taking so long to-” 

He cut her off with a kiss, shaking his head again as he pulled back and brushed his thumb over her lips. “Don’t apologize, love. We’ve both been fools. What matters is we’re here now.” She kissed his thumb and he smiled. “Will you let me make love to you, Emma?” 

She nodded again and he let out a relieved breath even as he tried to calm the boiling of his blood that cried out for her. “Thank you,” he said softly, then his smile morphed into a smirk, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “I promise, raincheck on the quick and dirty.” 

He laughed as she rolled her eyes but before she could speak he was kissing her again, stealing whatever cutting remark she’d had a second ago on the tip of her tongue. He kissed her for a long time, still not believing that he was actually allowed to do this, that she was beneath him, moulding herself to him, soft and pliable and _here_. And she wanted him. 

When she began writhing softly beneath him, hands grabbing at his shoulders and his waist in an attempt to pull him closer he smiled against her lips, her impatience flattering and reassuring. But she’d agreed to let him go slow, to do this at his own pace, and he intended to make it worth her while. 

He lowered himself over her until the entire length of him was pressed against her, Emma burning hot and soft against his skin as her breasts moulded to his chest and he settled into the cradle of her thighs. She sighed into his mouth even as she tried to hold him tighter. He did his best to hold himself up to keep from crushing her, but she was making it more than difficult. 

He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of kissing her, of feeling her mouth against his own and swallowing every sound she made. But as her hips began to rock slowly up against him, rhythmically and unintentionally, her hands roaming his back and his sides, everywhere she could touch him, he felt his desire stirring. Her hands were like fire, burning him alive and he needed more of her, all of her. He needed to taste and touch every inch of her skin until she fell apart at his hands. 

He trailed his lips down her throat, taking time to find every spot that made her sigh or gasp or tighten her hold in his hair, documenting her every reaction and stowing it away for future use. And he intended to make good on his promise to her. 

He traced his hands carefully along her hips where her dress was still bunched up and smirked against her skin when she shivered, muscles jumping under his fingers. He slid one slowly up the length of her stomach until he reached her breast, teasing the stiff peak with his thumb and nipping at her neck when she arched against him. 

Feeling her squirm beneath him, hearing the long moans and sharp cries he drew from her, the frustrated, desperate way she said his name had him growing impossibly hard, straining against the jeans he now wished he’d let her take off. Forgetting himself a moment, he ground down against her center, groaning at the heat of her, fighting the urge to bury himself deep inside of her and take her then and there. Perhaps she’d had the right idea after all. 

But he pulled back, eyes roving over her, taking in her flushed skin, her head thrown back, hair wild and fanned out on the pillow - gods she was better than his dreams. Her beauty was almost unearthly, a siren or a goddess under his hands, strong and brave and far too good for him. And yet she was letting herself be vulnerable with him, trusting him with so much of herself. She deserved to be worshiped, worshiped like he _knew_ nobody had ever taken the time to before. 

Killian kissed her again, trying to steady himself, ground himself even as his fingers continued to tease her. His lips returned to her neck and her hands fisted in his hair, not so subtly trying to direct him lower and he obliged her wish, smiling against her skin until he reached her breast, nipping and playing his tongue over her nipple until she cried out again. He loved that sound. He would do anything to draw that sound out of her as many times as he could before the night was through. 

When she was writhing so desperately beneath him he thought she may buck him clear off of her he took pity, placing hot, wet kisses along the line of her stomach, tasting the salt of her skin against his tongue until he reached her dress. He tugged it past her hips and down her legs, throwing it behind him with a grin and a flourish that had her giggling. His teeth against her hip bone, however, cut her laughter short.

He scooted down on the bed, kneeling between her legs and taking one of her ankles in his hand and placing it on his shoulder, nipping at the sensitive skin. Emma let out a shuddering breath as his lips began a slow climb along her calf, to her knee and her thigh. Her leg fell over his shoulder, heel digging into his back as she tried to urge him closer. When he reached her center though he stopped, turning to kiss the inside of her other knee and smirking at her annoyed grumble.

“Don’t make me change my mind, Jones,” she warned and a laugh burst from his chest. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he assured her, and before she could say anything else he pressed his mouth to her still-covered center, hot and open, tongue flicking out quickly before dragging his teeth. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” she gasped, hips bucking up against his face as he continued to kiss her deeply.

“So articulate, Swan,” he taunted, and the fact that she couldn't seem to manage an answer had him swelling with smug pride. He continued to eat at her through the material until she was rolling her hips, panting, sweat beginning to coat her skin and he took pity on her. Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he paused to glance up at her in question, pulling them off when she nodded. 

***

The feel of his mouth against her heat had her back arching off the bed, thighs squeezing either side of his head as he tasted her with lips and tongue and teeth. Nobody had ever had her so desperate before, so wanton and needy and so close to a height she’d never climbed to. He kept her from falling over though; just on the edge, never letting her go over but rather only building her higher, making her feel more and need more and want more until she was trembling, craving the release he promised. 

But not alone. She wanted him with her, wanted him inside of her, body moulded to his, skin burning against his own when he brought her over. She wanted his lips on hers and his cries pressed against her skin as she took him with her. But she was so close, fingers gripping his hair, pulling him up, along her body before she could combust. 

He seemed confused for a moment until she kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue and not hating it as she usually did. She shoved at his pants practically growling in his ear, “Can I take these off now?” 

He nodded quickly, kicking free of them and settling in the cradle of her thighs, the hard heat of him dragging through her folds, causing them both to groan as he thrust slowly, intently. He watched her face with every pass, brow pinched tight and mouth open in awe. She couldn’t wait anymore. 

Using her weight, she rolled them, landing him on his back and sitting atop him. He wasn’t content to have so much space between them long, sitting up and pressing his chest to hers. She took him in hand and lined him up her entrance. Killian’s hand found her cheek, lifting her face to meet his eyes, so much unsaid in them but speaking volumes. 

She held his gaze as she sank down over the length of him, slow and measured and perfect. They stayed that way for a moment, like neither of them could believe they were actually here, that this was actually happening. He still held her face in his hand, brow screwed up in bliss and need, but there was an honesty and openness in his eyes. She knew what he was going to say before he said it, because she felt it too.

“I love you. I’ve _always_ loved you.” 

He didn’t give her a chance to answer, rolling his hips, the words stolen from her lips by a gasp at the steady drag of him inside of her. She moved with him, both of them racing towards their climax together. His lips were everywhere, her mouth, her neck, her shoulder, her chest. His hand found its way to her breast, the added sensation spurring her on as she ground more desperately against him, so close and so terrified of the fall from such a height. 

“I’ve got you,” Killian promised, keeping up the steady, powerful thrust of his hips. “Let go.” 

She came with his name on her lips, every muscle in her body tightening as she held fast to him. He pulled her closer, slanting his mouth over hers as he thrust one, two more times before falling over the edge after her, moan breathed into her lungs and fingers grasping painfully at her hip. 

He was shaking. So was she. Both of them frozen for a moment by the intensity of what had just transpired between them, breath panting against each other’s cheeks. They stayed that way for a long while, until their breathing slowed and the overwhelming pleasure morphed to bone-melting warmth. 

Killian fell backwards against the pillows and she went down with him, collapsing on his chest, limbs heavy and useless. Sated wasn’t a strong enough word. This is what she’d been missing? All this time? She was an idiot. She laughed, still pressed to his chest and after a moment he followed suit, fingers tracing lazily along her spine. 

“And here I thought you were just being a cocky bastard all these years.”

“A gentleman never exaggerates.” 

She laughed again, rolling off of him onto her side. He rolled with her, not letting her get very far, gathering her up in his arms, legs tangling with her own. They lay smiling at each other for a long moment, Emma’s fingers tracing the lines and contours of his face. 

“I love you too, you know,” she said as she drew across his lips. His eyes, which had shut under her minstrations, opened and he smiled at her. 

“I didn’t. I hoped you might but -”

“I do.” 

“Really?” he asked, grin growing smug and teasing and she rolled her eyes. “I just seem to remember _so many_ intense declarations of loathing, that you couldn’t even bear being near me, singing my terrible qualities from the rooftops.” He caught the thumb that had been tracing his chin between his teeth. “So tell me, Swan,” he said, brow ticked up mirthfully. “Which of my bad qualities _specifically_ was it that made me so irresistible to you?” 

“Oh my god,” she groaned, rolling over onto her back. “You’re so annoying. It’s so weird how much I love you even though you’re this annoying.” 

“Ah, but you do love me,” he reminded her and she shook her head, shocked at how easily the words fell from her lips. 

“I do.” 

“Come here,” he said, pulling her to him again, fingers tracing along her side. “Let me annoy you a little more. Let’s see just how weird we can make this.” 

“Oh my god. Gross,” she frowned. Killian just laughed, capturing her lips with his. 


End file.
